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."