Hello new neighbours!

Waiting for the elevator while discussing adoption with B.

"It's not like I'm going to go out and steal the first baby that I see. I'm going to wait for a cute one.....oh hi there neighbour from across the hall. I....was just kidding. I swear. Ha. Ha. Ha. *long awkward pause while I repeatedly stab the elevator call button* Boy these elevators are just fucking with me at this point, am I right?"


No. Just no.

"So I found this outfit that I'm thinking about buying you."

"Okayyy....what is the catch?"

"Well, the tag calls it a jungle print."

"I'm going to stop you right there." *click*



I am investing in a small voice recorder.

Some of the conversations we have are so insane that to simply type them out does not do them justice. And I have to do it on the sly or else B will affect his "I'm so clever" voice and then I'll be forced to roll my eyes and that shit doesn't get picked up on a voice recorder.

You also haven't lived until you've heard B sigh. It's like this amazing combination of "I can't believe you fucking exist" and "Just let an asteroid hit me right now" with a dash of "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round...".



*glass accidentally clinks with ice cubes in it when I hold it out for him to refill*

"Did you just clink your ice in your glass at me? Like you're some sort of blue beard?"

"Wait. What?"

"Blue blood."

"You said blue beard."

"You must have been mistaken."

"No. I clearly recall you disparaging my chin hairs. And I'll have you know they are as brown as the hair on my legs."

"*chokes on his own drink*"

The hunt for a new vehicle.

"So....I know I'm supposed to be looking for vehicles with more space but, and hear me out here, what about a Mini?"

"A Mini Cooper."


"A vehicle that will reduce our space to the point where we will have to get a trailer to cart your telescope out to sites?"

"It's a MINI, damnit."

"Are you hungry?"

"What the hell? I suppose so. What does that have to do with looking at cars?"

"You know how when we're hungry and we're driving somewhere and see billboards or signs and every new sign changes what you want for dinner?"


"It is exactly like that. But with cars."

"It is NOTHING like that, because I don't eat cars. You're just hoping I wander off and do something else and forget about looking at Smart car......oh."

"*smug silence*"

"I don't know if I should be insulted that you are insinuating that I'm flighty, or chagrined because you are likely right."

"Sorry, what was that?"



The sea, she calls.

"I've found us a new place to live. We're never coming back."

"What will we do for a living?"

"We will live off the sea - we shall become pirates. I've already got the cussin' down, you'll need to lose a limb in a tragic jib accident, and I can poke one of your eyes out when you get home."

"Please seek some help. Not a lot, just some."

"Is that a no to the eye-poking? I sort of need to know if I should abandon the chair leg I've begun whittling into an eye-harpoon."

"I'm not coming home from work tonight."

"Whatever. It'll give me some time to practice my jabbin'"



Getting this in my email this morning from B?



Oral-B Memory Lane.

Feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm going to pull something out of the archives....

How Oral-B could better: A lesson in oral morals and needs.

I have an Oral-B toothbrush. It's one of those fancy Pulsar ones that does half the work for you, and I'm too cheap to buy a proper electric toothbrush.

The other day I was in the drugstore nearby and picking up some mail (it doubles as the local post office), when I walked through the toothbrush aisle. I marvel at the rows of toothbrushes, all able to perform the exact same function, but all marketing to people like myself....who are looking for some new and invigorating way to brush better. So I am admiring the colours and considering picking out a new one to replace my toothbrush because I am convinced I can find one to better fit my oral needs. And I spot it.

It is a toothbrush that, when you are brushing, plays music. And if you want the volume increased you have to brush harder. And my jaw drops. Because this satisfies both my inner need for dancing through every activity of the day, but also it seems as though I have been able to top the Pulsar.

B watches me grab it off the shelf and eyeballs me. He points out that they are designed for children. I scoff and hold the package that has a picture of Destiny's Child on it close to my chest. And as I'm walking to the cashier I start to worry. Will they smirk at me? Should I pick up another toothbrush and try to pass it off as a purchase for an unpresent child? B drags me to the cashier and, in a move that clearly indicates he is able to read my mind, gleefully asks the cashier if I am the only adult who has ever purchased one for herself. In that moment, I loathe his very existence.

So, naturally, my face turns bright red. And I stammer. And I say "Look. Don't judge me." And the cashier smirks. Just like I had assumed. And the grin widens on B's face. He is aware that he will pay for this transgression, but he is clearly enjoying every moment and relishing my shame. I glare at him, hand over my debit card, and look to hightail it out of the joint as fast as possible...already I am trying to determine the next nearest drugstore that I will begin to shop at instead.

We walk home while I ignore B. This is only phase one of his excommunication. The shun. He is still smirking, but has now begun to plead with me to do something other than glare. He has obviously forgotten that I am able to glare and shun for long periods of time. He can go fuck himself.

Once we actually get in the house, I rip open the package and pull out my brand new toothbrush and shove it in my mouth. The first thing I notice is that I have to crank open my jaw even more than normal in order to get my molars. It is not the most comfortable thing in the world. In fact, I begin to get slightly annoyed that most of the extra plastic was hidden within the package. I figure that 2pm is as good a time as any to brush my teeth, and layer on the toothpaste. And then I turn it on.

And like the song goes.....I'M A SURVIVOR, NOT GONNA GIVE UP.....

I learn quickly that the mixture of headjerks and toothbrush and toothpaste are not quite exactly healthy in that I am now swallowing most of my toothpaste, and what I'm not swallowing, I'm flinging across the house while attempting to show B how utterly bootylicious I am. And I am. Bootylicious.

B is unable to contain his laughter at the Sensodyne spackled walls, floor, and face (mine). I do not care. I am fucking bootylicious. I am a survivor. And I'm not gonna give up.

Well, not until the song ends. And then I go back to my trusty Oral-B. The singing toothbrush clearly fills a niche in my life, but I'm looking for a steady and hardworking toothbrush. A toothbrush that cares about me. That says to me every night "Hey, don't worry, I'll do most of the work because I, like, totally get that you are a lazy ass. And that is cool with me."

B gets to clean the walls. And I'm waiting for all those free toothbrushes to come in the mail, but they never do.

They never do.



Wordless Wednesday.

This photo may seem a bit odd at first, until you learn that we argued about this exact shot for over 20 minutes. Because that is how we do things. Wordless, indeed.



We spend a lot of time in a nearby national park, sometimes up to three or four nights a week, courtesy of our hobbies (night photography and astronomy). We have our favourite lake, we have our favourite views, and we have our favourite trails.

The best thing about the park is that it only starts to really come alive at dusk. The coyotes start to howl, the beavers finish off their work and can be seen scurrying around the dens, the owls compete with the geese for who can be the most obnoxious. I love nature. Oh....and the bison herds start moving around looking for a good place to sleep.

Which is how we found ourselves trapped, in our car, in the middle of a herd at least 80 (I stopped counting at that point) animals large as they were crossing from one side of the road to the other. The thing with bison is that they are bat-fucking-shit crazy. They are the Naomi Campbell of the wildlife kingdom. They will look all calm and serene and then, without warning, BAM! BISON CHOP TO YOUR SPLEEN.

I really wanted to take a picture, and even pulled out the camera, until B reminded me that all the little flashing lights we could see were the eyes that were looking RIGHT AT US. Like fuck I'm going to blind a herd of bison. I may be adventurous (I told you a few weeks ago I wasn't crazy, so get off my back), but I'm not stupid. So you'll just have to trust me that the car was stopped on the road surrounded by slow moving bison who were just waiting for us to sneeze, or look at them wrong, to trample the car and leave our tale to the good people at the Darwin Awards.

What is our heroine to do? She's going to whisper, for starters.

"Just keep driving. Slowly."

"How exactly am I supposed to not hit ANY OF THE MASSIVE ANIMALS ON THE ROAD?"

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! It's like Frogger. But....really slow. And we're the frogs but not on the road and then the bison become the traffic so I suppose that technically my Frogger comparison breaks down here."

"Frogger had room to move. We are surrounded on all sides with no room to move through the herd."

"If we keep rolling, slowly, maybe they'll get used to the motion and move out of the way?"

"Or we could gently roll into the side of a sleeping bison and wake it up."



"What would our ancestors do?"

"Spoken like someone who isn't so Scandinavian her skin glows in the middle of the night."

"HEY. Porcelain skin, asshole."

"You are the whitest person I have ever known. And I don't mean that culturally."


"Would you shut up? There are more looking this way. And I don't think you know what osmosis is."

"We want to be on the other side of the membrane, if you know what I mean."

"Science is ashamed of you."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"We should really grab the park ranger's phone number and have it on speed dial from now on."

"Let's just hope we don't have to integrate into the bison society in order to escape. I have a feeling I'd be really susceptible to the situation and would wind up with Stockholm Syndrome. Wikipedia would not be kind to my plight. Or Fark. Those fucking assholes would rip me a new one. What the hell do they know about survival? About roughing it and doing whatever it takes to stay alive in a society of creatures with the mental instability of a supermodel, but weigh half a ton each? They don't know how good they've got it."

"....next time you bring your DS."

Twenty minutes later we cleared the herd. And ran into a Yeti. That is fact*.

*depending on which one of us you talk to



"Today is Boobquake!"

"Is...is that what I think it is?"

"It is EXACTLY what you think it is."

"I've been wishing and hoping for years now....."

"The people who make calendars finally listened to you."

"It's because I went to their head offices wearing no pants."

"No, that was the bank. And that is why *I* have to make deposits from now on."


Favourite Things.

This probably tops our list of favourite things. If you haven't seen Firefly yet, I will wait while you watch the series.

Go on.

In unrelated news, B pulled his groin last night. I've agreed to not make fun of him until he feels better. That means I get +43451 points and I don't have to share any of the beer from the Beer Fest that is taking place right next door tonight.


Hypothetical jobs.

"What would you do if I came home and told you that I had a job offer in the UK?"
"Have you been applying for jobs in the UK?"
"Just...what would you do?"
"What about our apartment lease? And moving costs?"
"They would provide a large signing bonus that would take care of things like that."
"A signing bonus that would cover nearly a year of rent?"
"What about the cats? To take them overseas they need something like 6 months worth of tests and shots ahead of time, not to mention the kennel costs and quarantine on the other side."
"Taken care of."
"So every single expense would be taken care of?"
"I'm not fucking packing this place again."
"The movers would do that."
"But I have to finish unpacking first!"
"Fine. You've unpacked everything in a giant pile on the floor. Movers will repack it all."
"Okay. I would be fine with it."
"What if I told you that the job was working for the UK government?"
"And I couldn't talk about it."
"Like, you wouldn't talk about it or you couldn't?"
"That's classified."
"You totally work for The Doctor now, don't you?"
"I was thinking more MI5."
"You need to have some sort of special signal. Like...telling me you took a job with the Agricultural Department."
"But what if the job really is with that department??"
"It never is. Ever. No one works for that sort of department. It is all clandestine work for secret offices underneath pastures."
"I'm pretty sure government offices aren't in the middle of fields."
"Did you just wink at me?"
"But....I am incapable of winking."
"Did The Doctor teach you? Is that your secret signal? *lays finger on side of nose* I'm with you. Brain flu and all that."
"I'm not sure who is the real winner here. That you can't even reference Mad Cow Disease properly, or that I knew what the hell you were talking about."
"And yet, there are still boxes to be unpacked. And don't think I haven't noticed that the entire time you've been keeping me talking you have failed to put away the GIANT PILE OF CLOTHES RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU."
"My next wife is going to do this sort of thing for me."
"You better take that job with The Doctor division, what with needing to go back to the 1940's."
"I'd settle for someone who didn't talk back."
"Wouldn't we all?"



*B walks in the room*

"Hey...getting pregnant in order to justify buying a dozen lullaby covers of awesome songs is probably not a good idea, right?"

*B walks out of the room*



Not allowed.

I'm not allowed to show B anything on the internets anymore.


Mr. Toad.

"That is a porcupine."

"No, it is a muskrat."

"Have you ever SEEN a porcupine before? It's a porcupine. His name is Porky. It's unfortunate, but that is his name."

"You amaze and/or frighten me sometimes."

"This is my own private Wind in the Willows."

"Please don't say that in front of the park warden. We just paid the entrance fee."

"He runs the place. He probably gets invited to all the events at Toad Hall."

"People like you need a day pass, you know."

"That is rich coming from the guy who couldn't identify a fucking porcupine."

"It's a draw....."





"Hello husband. How is the office?"

"I'm on my way home. Want me to pick up something?"

"Wait a second. *telephone clicking* Hellloooooooooo. Ahahahahahahaha."

"....what the hell?"




"You have one phone pressed up to each ear, don't you?"


"We're on a sugar-free diet starting right now."

"But.....Zerblog does not care for aspartame."


Wordless Wednesday.


You've beaten my giant.

I'm pretty sure B and I are owed some royalties for this.


By hand.

"Do you mind washing my work shirts that were in my suitcase?"

"What do I look like, your 1950's housewife? The cheerful gal who hides her pain in a haze of vicodin and pineapple upside down cakes?"

"*long pause while he stares at me as I work on the piece of fabric I'm sewing by hand*"

"Well, fuck."



"I think I found you that stuff you wanted."

"You mean the Liberty of London bags and wellies? And the boxes?"

"Bags and boots. Couldn't find the boxes."

"Are the prints okay? I mean, do they look as vibrant in person as they do on the ads?"

"Whatever. The shit has flowers on it."

"What kind of flowers? I like the poppy prints but I'm not so fond of their purple prints."

".....I am lost in a Target store the size of a moderately sized shopping mall, I have only had a bagel to eat all day but I've lost at least two cups of sweat from my genital area alone in the past hour in this godforsaken desert heat, and I will never forgive you if you force me to find a sales associate and make me ask what type of fucking flowers I am looking at."

"I'm sure the flowers are lovely. Good eye. You're a hero. Much love. Thinking of you. Husband of the year award."

"I'm not going to another store to find the boxes."

"...well, shit."


Being Useful. Ish.

Things I have managed to do so far while B is out of the country:

Keep the tv turned to "Whatever the hell I want to watch".
Maintain the position of the bed sheets as they were intended....on the bed.
Save the neighbours from hearing "I DIDN'T CALL FOR THAT PASS" every three minutes between the hours of 4 pm and 5 pm (designated hockey time on the xbox)
Avoid vacuuming the end of the couch where the cats sleep.
Not run the bath after The Daily Show has aired.
Eat spicy foods non-stop.
Put up the art collection on the wall without hearing "Does it have to go THERE??"
Put all the photography manuals and books away.
Recharge all the remotes.

Things I have not managed to do so far while B is out of the country:

Figure out a way to train the cats to hack up their hairballs on B's pillow.
Figure out a way to train the cats to hack up their hairballs in B's shoes.
Drive myself to the doctors office to have my elbow x-rayed.
Convince my neighbours to not play their shitty eurotrash dance music at 8 am every single day.
Set up the Wii so it functions with all the other electronics.
Figure out B's system for determining whether a t-shirt is clean or not.
Wear pants.



Today my husband is in another country. And it has nothing to do with me, apparently (I am aware that they say that the world doesn't revolve around me, but I think the science is bunk).

I am going to miss him even though I know that the only reason he and I are married is that he drew the short straw against the rest of humanity and now it is his sole responsibility to ensure I don't wreak my particular brand of havoc on the population. The last time he went out of town he left me little notes in various places around the house that said things like "I've dismantled your nanobots so stop looking for them" and "I've wired this place to blow if you even think about continuing your research into ninja-cats". He takes his job pretty seriously, I guess, and worries about me when he's gone. Like I'm some sort of chump.


And that is the conversation I had in my head when I decided that tucking a post-it note into his passport demanding a tributary gift but specifically "No STD's, I have to draw the line somewhere" would be hilarious. Especially since he wouldn't see it....but the lovely people at US customs would.

And they did. They still let him in the country though (after embarrassing him, which is pure icing on the cake), so clearly I have to try harder next time.


Schindler's List

"It is 11 o'clock at night. Do we really need to watch Schindler's List now?"


"That's pretty heavy for this hour. I mean, you know I'll likely bawl through the entire program and then I'll have horrible dreams and wake up…..wait a minute….are all Jewish people able to do that?"

"This is the opening scene of X-Men. (long stare and equally long pause between us) You thought this was Schindler's List?"


"Wait. You thought MAGNETO was in Schindler's List?"

"This is my mulligan."

"No. No. Just, no."

"It is 11 o'clock at night. Do we really need to watch X-Men now?"

"We do if we never want to revisit this in front of people you know at any point in the future."

"I accept the terms of life mulligan. Proceed."


One day.

"So you know what pisses me off?"

"Everything that I don't do...coupled with everything that I do do?"

"You totally just said do-do."

"*rolls eyes*"

"*doubles over laughing and then walks away*"



On Lent.

"Did you hear about Miley Cyrus?"
"Miley Cyrus."
"I don't care."
"But did you hear she is giving up music?"
"I wasn't aware what she had was technically called music."
"She's giving it up for her movie career."
"I don't think she understands Lent."
"What the hell?"
"Imagine if I were Catholic."
"But minus the burning in the hell thing?"
"I assume that would come later. So imagine me as a Catholic."
"Minus the school uniform."
"Now imagine me giving up good manners for Lent."
"…..but you don't have…"


Choosing Words.

Lesson learned.

It is probably not a good idea to complain loudly to your wife about some bratty child walking in front of the camera repeatedly when he and his parents are within earshot.

It is definitely not good when the words you choose to use to complain about said bratty child are "I'm exposing here!"


Supernatural Zombie.

While watching Supernatural last night, which featured people coming back from the dead to return to their former lives with their loved ones taking it in stride. B thought this was unrealistic.

"If you ever come back from the grave, I'm not welcoming you back with open arms."

"If I ever come back from the grave, it is because I've come to exact my revenge."



"I paid the tax today, Angel."

"You don't owe on your taxes, you are getting a refund this year."

"But I paid it."

"How on earth could you pay it? I submitted the forms weeks ago."


"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The stupid tax*!"

"Oh honey, they just automatically deduct that from your paycheque now."

*lotto ticket


Like the Romans intended.

Filed under "things that drive me crazy" which is a subsection of "nearly everything" (I use law office sized filing cabinets), I'd like to mention The Bath.

B doesn't shower. I think he thinks he's allergic to them or something because the way he evades the little pull knob that switches the water flow from the faucet to the shower head is probably exactly the way that former president evades broccoli fields. You know, Polk. He (B, not Polk) won't touch the damn thing. He insists on having lengthy (of course they are lengthy) hot baths. Ones that last three quarters of an hour long.

"Like the Romans intended."

I can hear you saying "But what is the big deal?", and I'm ignoring the last part of what you said because I am completely sane thankyouverymuch. The big deal is that, completely on purpose and in direct violation of the My Nerve Act, he only takes them at midnight. AT MIDNIGHT. Then, every single fucking morning, he bitches about his hair (which he also refuses to cut unless I read him the riot act at least three times) and then proceeds to use the equivalent of half a barrel of crude oil to keep the Astro-boy-but-with-bedhead mess down, so the sole responsibility of the tar sands at this point is to keep him a functioning member of society (debatable).

I'm not sure how this is going to play out because The Hague still isn't returning my calls, and I don't think I'm allowed to tell you to dump your Dippity-Do stock because I'm pretty sure that is what Martha Stewart went to jail for, but this is going to end. One way, or the other.


Yes We Can.

B and I spent the day yesterday at this awesome antique mall we drop by every few months. I wound up leaving behind the greatest. find. ever. We debated it loudly and passionately, much to the chagrin of many other patrons who just wanted to browse old comics in peace. They were just jealous.

Number of times you will see can in a day.
Divided by number of times you will giggle out loud.
Multiplied by number of times you will say "Why yes, yes I do" to yourself.
To the power of number of times you will annoy your husband by pointing to it and snickering.
If the answer is greater than the cost of the tin, "put it back on the fucking shelf, Angel".


Where all the muthafu^&@^ sailors at?

Last night I made homemade potato skins for dinner. Which aren't so much skins as those little tiny bite-sized potatoes. Boil them until they are fork tender, then toss them in a baking pan with various toppings. We went with this really awesome local cheese that I've grown attached to (people are always saying we are like two peas in a pod, finishing each others sentences....)(too much?), a variety of chopped veggies, some creme fraiche (to turn the melted cheese into a really thick gooey sauce), sea salt, ground pepper, and paprika. Broil it all until everything has a nice golden brown hue to it. Then we ate it hot out of the oven with a big dollop of spicy salsa.


Then I drank a six pack of Red Stripe and proceeded to annoy B all night with sea shanties that may or may not be historically accurate while he was attempting to watch a rugby game. He, wisely, stuck to the iced tea.


Montreal Screw Job.

Watching tv. B changes the channel to wrestling. I sigh loudly.

"No. This is Brett Hart. BlahblahblahMontrealScrewJob."

"*even louder sigh*"

"NO! I AM NOT TURNING THE CHANNEL. This is where I draw the line. This is legend."

"*loudest sigh yet*"

"If I miss something huge, we're through." (he changes the channel)

"Our entire relationship, spanning a full decade now, has been in anticipation of this exact moment, when I can force you to change the channel on grown men with mullets wearing spandex for funsies. *stands up and bows elaborately* I bid you adieu."

Cue the throw pillow to my face.



We moved recently and the moving company we hired was owned and operated by a family that looks like they were all fed human growth hormones and anabolic steroids instead of breast milk at birth. But not in a "gee, where did your neck go" kind of way, it was more along the lines of "holy hell, how is the weather up there and I can't believe you still manage to have an incredible set of muscles". Which, as you know, is priceless coming from me. Not the incredible set of muscles (my abs are winning the 2004 Hide & Seek Championship), but the height jab. Because not only am I taller than most humans, I am still only up to B's nose. So when I say "holy hell those guys are tall", you now know that my frame of reference for average is six feet.

I arranged our move, meeting the brothers and (mostly) trying to stay out of their way while they executed feats of strength. Like seeing one pick up our two hundred pound bookcase and proceed to carry it down the stairs himself. Luckily for me I had also arranged a cleaner for the following day to mop up all the damn drool. When B arrived halfway through the day, he was immediately in awe.

"Ohmygod, that guy nearly broke my hand when he shook it!"

"I KNOW! He totally gave me a manshake too. I appreciate that."

"I think he broke my hand."

"He used to play football professionally."

"*Seriously, it hurts."
(he started shaking out his hand while eyeballing the hallway to make sure the mover hadn't caught him wussing out)

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Go away."

"I'm going to go shake his hand again."

"He was clearly sent back from the future to kill one of us and I'm pretty sure it isn't me since he let me live. Oh how he let me live."


Crabs. P2.

"I bought you a present, Angel."

"Is it crabs?"

"Let it go."

"YOU let it go."

"It's an actual gift."

"Is it one of those gifts that you buy for someone and SAY it is for them but you know that they will never use it and so you get to use it and it eventually winds up with your name etched into it or hanging on your side of the closet?"

"Like that blue woollen sweater you bought me for Christmas a few years ago?"




As I mentioned on my twitter feed, I was playing with the bison over the weekend here. I looooooove the bison. There is something noble and totally kick-ass about being a bison and having no serious predators. They are more dangerous than grizzly bears, fool! I discovered, through my ability to google shit, that bison killed and/or injured more people in Yellowstone than bears between some year and some other year. FIVE TIMES MORE! Suck it, Colbert.

Except the last time we were out here, not two weeks ago, we were chased by a bear. Well, less chased and more "heard it growl from about twenty feet away and, contrary to every single piece of meet-a-bear literature we have ever read, ran like eight year old girls yelling our heads off while reciting our wills aloud to one another". Guess what I learned? I can beat B in a footrace AND I'm apparently not getting his x-box when he bites it. Or a bear bites him. There are some things I'm just not willing to let him win on, and taking one for the team with a bear tops that list. I don't fucking care if that makes me a bad wife. I have a strict code about that and toenail growth.

So anyway. Bear last time. Bison this time.

I should tell you first. I have a stuffed bison at home named Shelley. I don't know why I started calling him Shelley (of course he is a boy, don't you know anything about bison?), but it fits perfectly. He will be named whatever he wants because no one will question his name without running into the batshit crazy side of the bison personality. Which is why, I'm .99% certain, they are docile for the most part. Hunted to near extinction because our ancestors wouldn't shut up about their non-gender-neutral names.

So we're headed out to the park and per normal B and I are having outrageous conversations about inane things (marriage building blocks) (foundation = mutual love of cheese). We get to the park entrance only to discover that the little machine entrance thing wants us to pay $7.80 to cross the invisible regular place-magic park barrier. And I'm livid because THAT IS HOW MUCH IT COSTS TO GET INTO BANFF AND THIS PLACE IS NO BANFF! IT IS A STUPID PROVINCIAL PARK AND HAS NO BUSINESS CHARGING THIS MUCH.


".....Are you done?"

"That is all I have to say about that."

"It's a national park."


"It says so right on the machine. And the ticket. And the sign. And the NAME."

".....*insert about two minutes of silence*....well, it must be a typo."

"*martyred sigh*"

About five minutes after that?

I stared into that bison's soul and you know what I found?

He thinks $7.80 is a great deal. And I'd better drive the hell faster or he will roll my car. Done and done, Mr. Shelley. Done and...OMG B, THERE IS A BEAVER DEN SLOWDOWNSLOWDOWNSLOWDOWN.



"WOOHOO. I just got The Bigamist achievement!"


"She keeps giving me gifts to show how much she really loves me. *pointed stare*"

"One of your wives is the town whore. She gave you the gift of crabs."


"I can totally arrange that for you if you want. I'll just need a few hours."

"Let's just forget I said anything."

"Wait. So do you want the crabs or not? ARRANGEMENTS HAVE TO BE MADE."


Well now we know.

"Do you mind driving me to that little wine place that we went to that one time?"

"I have no idea what place you are talking about. What wine place?"

"That place with the cheap decor but the really good interior BC selection. It's like…nearby to the bakery."

"What the hell? What bakery?"

"That place with the easter bread we got one year."

"So we're looking for a polish bakery, but not actually the polish bakery but a wine place NEAR that bakery."


"Yeah, I'll just type that into google maps and see what happens."

"You don't have to be rude. I just need a ride. I think I can give you directions while we're in the car."

"Why can't you drive yourself then?"

"I've been drinking."

"…Of course you have."

"Not enough to impair my inhibitions, but enough to scare pedestrians."

"There are so many things wrong with what you just said that I don't know where to begin."

"If I keep drinking, I won't gain weight. I read that on the internet today."

"This is why you don't have an iPhone, you know."


Totally Outrageous.

Scene - Watching cartoons in the early morning.

"Wow. B. So that dude was the Village People GI Joe. Ten bucks says he couldn't identify a vagina in a police line-up."


"He looks like a bear, I'm just saying."


"And it just proves that DADT is stupid because OBVIOUSLY he's good at what he does, but it proved it decades ago. You think the other GI Joe dudes care about who he is attracted to? No. He gets the job done. Because that is what gay GI Joe dudes do. They do the job with well-grown and 'in your face military grooming standards' 'staches and that is it."


"We should watch Jem and the Holograms next. I wonder what lifestyle and forward-thinking social commentary subtext I missed when I was younger and thought it was all about the music and being totally outrageous."


What movie?

"Want to watch a movie together when I get home?"

"Which movie would that be, B?"

"The one I downloaded yesterday."

"Which one was that again?"

"THE movie."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."


"What the hell did you just say? The jackhammers are going."



"SEVENTEEN AGAIN!!! (loud laughter from people in his office) ....I hate you."

Then he hung up on me.



The driving route to our favourite asian grocer is full of gems. Like the home that would put the greek house in My Big Fat Greek Wedding to shame. The pie shop (which I'm just noting because it has GREAT pie and I dig pie). The chain hotel with the windows that are covered over by mattresses. You know, fun stuff. But the trophy store always catches my eye. And not because I'm attracted to shiny things. I mean, I am. I also have a plan.

"B, we should totally go in and buy you one. Like a giant 6 foot tall one and have it engraved with something like "Indianapolis 500 Champion", and then when people dispute its origins you can be all 'Uh, its not like you can just go somewhere and get them made'."

"But you can."

"But no one would believe you'd pay hundreds of dollars for a mediocre replica. You would have logic on your side!"

"I don't see the point in the elaborate ruse."

"You have no vision. Imagine the awe of bringing your boss home to see your engraved silver Wimbledon platter and no real way for him to call you out on it without questioning your entire moral code, thereby making HIM the asshole."


"You're welcome."



Picture this. Really early morning, dawn was just breaking, and we are driving toward an eerie fog.

"B, the only acceptable reason for you to kill me is Reavers."


"If we ever come across weird looking fog again, you should turn around and drive away."

"...what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Like in that movie, The Fog? Where the giant ass bugs are in the fog and he kills the people to "save" them? Then it turns out that they would have been fine? Fuck that. I won't be a statistic, asshole. The only acceptable reason for you to kill me is if Reavers have got me, and even then you will need two independent sources to confirm. Just in case."

"I will do my due diligence."

"As long as we are clear. Reavers, yes. Everything else, no."

"I can't fucking believe we are having this conversation."

"Just wait until I update my will."



The other morning I woke up from a horrible nightmare. I won't get into the specifics, but the dream was moving along rather nicely (and it was quite pleasant). It took a horrifying turn when I suddenly had to deal with an overflowing toilet that just kept bubbling over.

I woke up soon after and relayed the strange dream to B. He didn't even look at me when he said "Oh yeah, I farted near you right before you got up".


Dante's Inferno

"I just want you to know that if I ever go away on a religious crusade, am unfaithful to you while gone, you get dragged to hell to become Lucifers bride, and I am tasked to absolve my sins by a dubiously accredited bishop by performing heinous tasks, I'm sorry. Also...I'm not going to hell to get you, Angel."

"I'm in another castle anyway, fucker."


Car Beer.

"You hanging out the window yelling CHUG CHUG CHUG while I am refilling the windshield washer fluid at a busy gas station is not something I ever want to experience again."


Our heroine makes herself sick.

Today I made myself horribly ill. I also lost fifty bucks. That's fifty Canadian dollars, not the peanuts you call USD.

Picture this. I am sitting on the couch reading Dostoevsky in the original Russian (playing Viva Pinata on the x-box) with my bone china teacup of freshly steeped peppermint herbal tea sitting on the butler tray in front of me (bottle of pepsi shoved under a thigh) and idly pondering how utterly fantastic and gorgeous I am (utterly fantastic and gorgeous).

B puts on a classical piece by Gorecki for both of us to enjoy (starts singing She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy while in the shower) and enquires shortly after if I would mind if he grilled some lemon pork and whipped up some fresh tzatziki for lunch (yells his intention to go get burgers and fries from within said shower). With the menu settled, I decide that I'm a tad peckish right then and wonder aloud if I should munch on something (munch on something).

B stops and stares for a full minute, and then points out that lunch is only 20 minutes away at the most. Clearly living with the guy for 10 years has fucked with his memory, because I don't recall giving him the impression I am anything but a gourmet (pig). And I remind him that I am fully capable of eating some snackfoods en masse without ruining my appetite. Like nuts. He went with the childish man giggle because I said "nuts", and I patiently began to smack talk...boasting of all the times I had trained myself for this very moment with dim sum events through my history.

"You will make yourself ill, sweetheart."
("I'm not cleaning up puke, you heathen.")

"Darling, I am capable of judging my stomach capacity."
("Fuck you, I'm not a heathen. I have a delightful appetite you cock.")


"Your silence speaks volumes, my dear."
("You are such a manboy.")

"Shall we place a friendly wager on your ability?"
("Fifty bucks says you can't eat a bag of pistachios.")

"Not only am I willing to take your money, I can eat two bags of pistachios."
("Not only am I willing to take your money, I can eat two bags of pistachios.")

"I'm sure you can, but just one bag will suffice. The non-red ones."
("I'm sure you can, but one bag'll do. Just not the red ones or you'll get it everywhere.")

"Good call."
("Good call.")

And thus the wager was set. Soon after, he came home with a bag. Of nuts. From the bulk aisle. One kilogram. That fucker.


Lyric Abuse

The date? A few days ago. The place? The stairs. Time? Fucked if I know.

Backstory. The entire day I had been annoying B by reciting lyrics in response to anything he said. He failed to appreciate the significant talent that lies in being able to find the exact lyric that conveys the proper response in less than thirty seconds. It is because he is simple-minded.

Cut to. Heading up the stairs, he phrased a question in my general direction. Amateur.

Alright, so you are caught up. He tosses me a question and I respond with another lyric. "Too many men. Too many people. Too many problems. And not enough love to go around." He turned around slowly and stared me down, while I started up the stairs after him. A few dramatic pauses.....and he yells.


I knew I married this dude for a reason.

* I am aware these aren't the exact lyrics. Get off my back.



"Shut up and just drink it without the show, Angel."


"Enough already. Just swallow it."


"Next bottle is Buckleys."

"OHMYGODTHEHORR....oh. Okay. I'm cool."


An old birthday tale.

(plucked from my marital archives circa 2007)

Enter morning. B wakes up and he's pissing and moaning about how fucking old he is. He refuses to get out of bed. He is talking about needing a hip replacement. It's his birthday today, you see.

So, with a short burst of speed and a massive flying leap toward his aging body, I get ready to punch him in the thigh. Really really hard. Just to remind him that he's not old. And I yell "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" while flying through the air with my fist coiled for action.

Instead I punched him really really hard...

...right in the nuts.

Thankfully he was already lying on the bed and he was able to pass out gracefully.

So I had to go buy him a new xbox to make up for it. Seriously. How else does one apologize for the THIRD WORST BIRTHDAY GIFT EVER GIVEN BY ANYONE AT ANY POINT IN TIME? First being genocide (but in retrospect I suppose that is what happened down there this morning) and the second being a bolo tie.

If he doesn't die of penis-punching complications, I can only assume he will carry through on his threat to divorce me. This, of course, was pre-xbox, so hopefully he has forgotten about shouting that at me. Hopefully. How long does penis punching pain last, exactly?

Number One.

Hello there interwebs. I am compiling all the little stories, essays, and outright lies I've told about my marriage into one place. This place. It shouldn't take me long. But I also said that about losing ten pounds. Some perspective is good.