The Old Timey Days.

"I am awed by the fact that in our collective history, in the old timey days, our ancestors had to walk three miles in the snow to the nearest phone box in order to ask the operator to connect them to catalogue sales in order to place an order."

"Umm, I guess so."

"It is true what they say, everything old is new again. Time is a loop. Or, and bear with me here because I'm about to lay some heavy on the moment, is it that we are repeating our doomed history?"

"...What?!"

"I know. It's shocking. But we have to view the past through lenses, am I right? Is it good that I'm following in their footsteps, or will it bring about a world war? Can we ever really know? What if I've just set something into motion that I will regret later on?"

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"I'm not going to lie, I am on a lot of painkillers and I just watched a bunch of episodes of The Walking Dead. *long pause* These boots are going to be workhorses through the zombie apocalypse, right?"

"I have your order confirmation number now. Thanks for shopping with Sears."

J'accuse.

Picture this. We're sprawled out on our bed in the coolest part of the house to escape the early summer heat. That is the polite way of saying we were lethargic and sweaty. Oh, magical words!

Anyway. We're both quietly entertaining ourselves on our tablets and all of a sudden B flies into a rage. Full on zero to sixty, and I am blinking rapidly trying to figure out what he has discovered I've done now. I'm not going to lie...I am an ask questions later kind of woman, which means that I normally get a lot of angry phone calls once the media gets wind of my shenanigans. Because every single person I know is a fucking tattle-tale. That is beside the point.

So in among his ranting, in which he is calling me many unflattering names and frequently uses the word hypocrite, I discern that he is actually levelling a very serious charge at me.

He has accused me of cheating.

At which point my standard confused-but-understanding demeanor in these types of "What have you done?" moments is replaced by an overwhelming desire to kick his junk up into his ribcage. Cheating? Oh FUCK no.

We yell. We curse. We slam a lot of doors. There are a few angry tears. At that point, I decide enough is enough and I take a drive to calm down. When I return home I find him on my laptop with my tablet nearby and upon questioning his choice of activities (paraphrased), he tells me that he is checking my browser history. When I offer to open up my email so he can further invade my privacy, he looks at me like I'm completely nuts and tells me that would prove nothing and then reminds me that he expected this sort of thing after our wedding.

At this point I stop mid-protest and Things Are Starting To Click. This is the third time he has brought up our wedding. His dismissal of my email just doesn't make sense. And, looking back, I notice that he has always used certain terms and phrases, while avoiding others.

"Err....you don't think I am having an affair at all, do you?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course not. I was talking about Crazy Formula."

I present to you, dear reader, Crazy Formula.

"This is over a GAME?" The wedding comments sink in fully now as the day of our wedding was the day I finally admitted to counting cards. Surprising absolutely no one, this does nothing to mollify me. "YOU ARE THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE EVER."

"It took you two minutes to figure out the last puzzle!! I watched you! It took me SEVEN FULL DAYS to get it! You can't blame me for thinking you cheated."

"AT NO POINT DID YOU STOP AND WONDER WHY I WASN'T TYPICALLY SELF-RIGHTEOUS ABOUT BEING SMARTER THAN YOU?"

"Hey. You're not smarter than I am."

"I AM SO! I AM THE SMARTEST PERSON IN THIS ROOM AND PERHAPS THE BUILDING. PROBABLY. AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF."

And that is how we found ourselves arguing very loudly and at great length about the argument. Which, I'm told, is finally fucking meta.

Raise a glass. Err...a bottle.

There are going to be insane amounts of people drunk tonight on expensive Islay scotch and making massive donations to charities in Africa that put young girls through school in tribute of the life that was. We're going to miss you something fierce, old man.

Game of Thrones the married way.

"Is Sean Bean the good guy in this? I think there needs to be a flashing bar at the bottom that lets viewers know right away if he is a good guy or a bad guy so I can concentrate on the plot and not whether or not he's going to stab someone in the back. Or front. If he's going to stab someone, I sort of need to know ahead of time. If I write HBO a letter, will they have time to add this in for the next episode? I can't be the only person on the planet wondering about this right now. A flashing bar would resolve this for a lot of people."

"How hard do you think it would be for me to get my hands on a dire wolf pup?"

"Oh. Well...dire wolves aren't real. So, pretty hard?"

"...hm."

*long pause*

"I don't know what to focus on anymore. My crushing need to know if Sean Bean's character is ultimately a bad guy, or if you just googled dire wolves to see if they exist or not."

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

"I'm going to forget this conversation ever happened. I like to believe I have some respect for you left."

"Says the guy who definitely wasn't listening to Taylor Swift this afternoon when he thought I was napping."


Note: I haven't read the series all the way through, so please don't spoil it!

Finish him.

This made every single bone in my body squeal in delight.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pull out my MK soundtrack and crank it to 11.

Dark side.

"It'd funny if the first words of the first astronaut on Mars were about forgetting a toothbrush."

"That's what you'd go with for your first iconic words? Really? I'd go with something like...I'm not wearing any pants for a year and a half! or WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH ALL THE DINOSAURS?? AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

"This is why you'll never be an astronaut."

"No...the real reason I'm not an astronaut is that no space agency could afford the cleaning supplies."

"......"

"I suspect space-approved glass cleaner is about a million and a half per bottle. And I'd need a NASA approved squeegee."

"Because you'd moon the moon?"

"Because I'd moon the moon."

"....obviously."

"Obviously."

Bomb birds are useless.

Want your husband to keep his filthy paws off your new iPad and not fuck with your Angry Birds momentum?

Rename it The Menstrual Pad and have loud and angry discussion in which one party makes it known that it will not deter him from using it. Grab his work Blackberry and proceed to lock yourself in the bathroom while threatening to email his peers that he has an abnormal fascination with sanitary napkins. Someone gets called a childish bitch. Stand-off ends with a swap of technology under the door.

That's a pro-tip, ladies. Also...Angry Birds is just as awesome when you are sitting on the tub ledge waiting for the other party to finish cleaning the "You suck" written in eyeliner off the screen of his mobile phone.

No Pants 2011. Day Four.

"All this speaker is doing is talking about hopes and dreams. He actually brought in a rainbow metaphor."

"At the end of the session, does everyone in the audience chip in and you guys go buy him a pony that his parents never gave him when he was a child?"

"I need to find a way to market you because I'm pretty sure you'd make a killing on speaking fees."

"It wouldn't last. Eventually Hollywood would get all litigious when it it was uncovered that most of my lectures revolved around something Senor Chang said on Community."

"I'd pay to see Chang give a keynote address at a conference. And at least I'm not paying attention to what this guy is saying anymore since I'm watching various Chang clips on YouTube."

"You should probably spread those around before everyone in the audience gets on the same menstrual cycle."

"I always make the mistake of emailing you one last time....."

"Everyone does."

No Pants 2011. Day Three.

"Sorry, what did you say? This place is a zoo right now. I thought I heard you say that you had to pee."

"That's what I said. I have to pee."

"You called me up specifically to tell me this? I'm actually afraid to ask...but...why?"

"Who else am I supposed to tell?"

"I suppose that makes perfect Angel sense."

"Well, I was watching a bit of tv and I got up, hit pause on the remote, and remarked out loud that I needed to go to the bathroom, like I was explaining why I needed to pause the show. Then I got a bit sad because I remembered that it was just me and the cats. So I thought I'd inject a bit of normal life into what I can only assume has been a 48 hour binge on hookers and smack."

"Aww...actually, that is kind of sweet. Wait....are you....YOU ARE PEEING RIGHT NOW, AREN'T YOU?"

"THEN DON'T LISTEN IF YOU ARE GOING TO GET ALL HUFFY ABOUT IT."


(Note: Alison, you still aren't allowed to try this at home)

No Pants 2011. Day Two. Ish.

Note: Alison, do not try this at home.

"Hey, remember that song? We were in the car and it came on and I was all "This is the shittiest song I have ever heard and what the hell is it about anyway?" and you were like "This is a song about anal" and then we laughed for about five minutes solid while picturing the effort that had to go into writing a rock ballad about anal sex that actually makes it onto regular play at popular top 40 stations across North America and then we were like "Well damn, let's write a song about circle jerks because we'll definitely go platinum" and then we decided that the world had already moved past circle jerking on the radio because that is how come Nickelback gets to keep making albums and then we decided that we were going to write a song about nasophilia but then I was like "Is it too meta if we call it On The Nose?" and then we argued about what meta actually means and then you changed the station and the damn song was PLAYING ON THE OTHER STATION and we were like "This is fucking fate" and then you kept adding "about anal" to the end of each lyric? WHAT IS THE NAME OF THAT SONG? The song about anal. Do you remember?"

"*laughter blasting out of the mobile phone*"

"Hello? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER THERE?"

"That is the sound of a whole table of people hearing every word you said. Including John Salley."

"The NBA player? I'm pretty sure NBA players know what anal is and, wait, who the fuck are you that you are hanging out with basketball players? I mean, Carrot Top? Yes. I can see you randomly hanging out with Carrot Top. But John Salley? Not a chance. I am dreaming. Or you're dreaming. One of us is dreaming and since Matthew McFadyen isn't here, it's probably your dream and I'm getting the shaft."

"Pretty sure everyone can still hear you."

"I am hanging up right now."

No Pants 2011. Day One.

"The cabbie taking me to the hotel tried to sell me on a happy ending massage parlour. I had lunch at Wolfgang Puck's restaurant. Spent the afternoon taking photos at Mandalay. Dinner at Batali's. Just got out of the Penn & Teller show. Solid first day."

"Yeah....well....you aren't our children's real father. So there's THAT."




Update: No. I am not pregnant. No. I did not steal a child. The police department should be ecstatic that the network of spies that they have trained on my vagina are on top of it. Not on top of my vagina because I don't have the proper permits for that sort of gathering. On top of my status as a parent. Which I clarify only because the number of smartasses I know that read this are numerous and I WILL NOT LET YOU HAVE THE LAST WORD.

Lessons in technology.

"I just had a Chocolate Thunder Brownie from Queen of Tarts. I think I'm about to leave you for a pan of brownies."

"I'm not adverse to an open marriage."

"*stunned silence* *slight coughing* *voice that is not B* So, I'll just get that project breakdown from you later then? *sound of door closing*"

"...............speakerphoned."

"There is absolutely nothing I can say at this point to him to make him understand that what he heard wasn't what he thinks he heard."

"That sound you hear is the sound of hundreds of office assistants learning that you are a sexual deviant."

"Thank you."

"Seriously though, you better be bringing home some of those fucking brownies."

"*click*"

I would use it to make cogs n' stuff.

"I want a Maker-Bot."

"Like hell."

"Come oooonnnnnn. Think of all the use we could get out of it!"

"I'm more worried about the robot army you definitely aren't thinking about creating."

"*indignant sputtering*"

"This is ninja-cats all over again and I won't have it in our house."

"You are the WORLDS BIGGEST BUZZKILL."

"You say that like I don't get a thank-you card from the UN every year."

Destination Nom-Nom.

"I am hungry. Let's do breakfast. Wait. Breakfast was hours ago. I think it's brunch at this point. Shit, it's 2 pm. We're beyond lunch. Hot damn! We're finally aboard the dunch train like other fine sophisticated people! If you want nom-noms, you will get aboard this train as I am the conductor. Also, because I know for a fact you are allergic to the pots and pans. Have your tickets and passes ready, we are now leaving the station. Destination nom-noms. The alternative is slinner, and that is just fucking stupid."

Is the conversation I thought I had today with my husband. This is in official dispute.

"You rolled out of bed with drool down one side of your face, coughed out a lung, stared at the clock beside the bed for a few moments, mumbled something, and then you raised your arms above your head and yelled 'TEAM DUNCH' before going back to bed."

So over-the-counter medication has gotten a lot better recently or he's a dirty filthy liar. It could go either way.

Especially since I didn't get my damn dunch.

I demand another cake.

Apparently birthday wishes don't extend to hygiene and so I still have to shower today.

There is fuckery afoot.

Obviously.

"I just looked at the credit card statement online on my lunch break and... Why does it look like you spent $70 on soap?"

"Because I spent $70 on soap."

"On soap. The kind in bars."

"Yes. That kind of soap."

"$70."

"Technically it was around $90, but I had some money already in my PayPal account."

"On soap."

"Yes. On soap."

"You can see where I might have a problem with this."

"If we're going to have this conversation, I'm about to bring in Exhibit Nerd. In which I point you to the charge JUST BELOW the one in question. I believe, sir, that you are looking at a charge of over $200 on graphic novels and comics."

"$70 seems pretty reasonable."

"I rest my case, your honour. My lathery moisture-locked case."



I feel obliged to note that I buy soap by the handmade batch and it can take years to get through a stash....so don't judge me. I shower.

Lost Girl.

"Why is that Coldplay guy in this tv show?"

"That's not the Coldplay guy."

"Damn. I have some zingers about his method acting."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this is a show about a succubus...."

"For entertainment purposes, you may proceed."

"Oh....well, that was sort of all of them."

"Disappointing."

"I'm not the one who married an annoying shrew....and I totally just walked into that one."

"*smug silence*"

A great evil.

"This is it. I've been teetering on this precipice for decades and I never thought I'd cross this line. I've finally become one with my sociopathy and my inner rage. I will be hunted, I will be tortured, and I will eventually have to face justice for the evils I am about to unleash. And I'll probably write a book about it, and it will become a posthumous bestseller. Terrible acts on a scale never before conceived of. I am the love child of Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin Dada, and countless others that I don't readily have the names of handy. There can be no redemption, and I am like Darth Vader without the fucking helmet coming off scene. All shall cower in fear of the coming genocide for (*raises arms in maniacal fit/surge of unimaginable powers of the universe*) I AM SHIVA, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS! THIS IS MY INSANE LAUGHTER. INSANE LAUGHTER! HAHA! HAHAHA! AHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"....I'm still not cleaning the toilet for you."

"This is bullshit."

Thanks, Al.

"We should hop the train and head to Southgate. *pause* And go to the comic book store."

*taptaptap heard faintly through the phone*

"Don't bother. I know Coach opened a store there."

"GODDAMNIT. THE INTERNET HAS RUINED EVERYTHING."