Garfield had it right. Mondays can suck it. Sleeping is euphoric. Lasagna reigns supreme. Screw kindergarten. Everything I need to know I learned from a fat cartoon cat.
Last Monday was a drag. And not the sassy kind like Nina Flowers. I can't really pin down why it was a unimpressive other than the fact that it was Monday. Send me back to bed because hiding from Monday beats facing it...plus we just bought these delicious new pillows. Who wouldn't want to curl up in bed when St. Peter opens the bedroom door for you? Come to think of it, that man never goes home. Hope he doesn't have an ear to the door after dark. Pervert. I'm actually writing this post from bed because tomorrow is another Monday and I'm bracing for it. Total honesty? I'm writing this post from bed because it's Football Sunday and I'm tired of getting confused and thinking that Boyfriend is talking to me and not the padded dudes on the field. Believe me, I've tried to explain that those coaches, players and refs can't hear him, but he insists on telling them what he thinks. I've told you before, he just doesn't get how technology works. Poor old man Boyfriend.
Back to the story. Last Monday, Boyfriend decided that to make us lasagna for dinner. I freaking love lasagna, perhaps more than Boyfriend; thankfully they're a package deal so I don't have to choose between them. He went to the store and picked up all the groceries to make the pasta...except the pasta noodles. Of course, this oversight wasn't acknowledged until he'd already started cooking this, mixing that, sprinkling his seasonings and whatnot.
Uh oh.
What?
You have to go to the store.
Why?
We don't have any lasagna noodles.
You can go to the store.
I can if you watch what I've got going on the stove.
We all know that I'm not going to watch whatever's happening on the stove. I could try, but I recently ruined Pillsbury ready-to-bake cookies, so I flop off the couch, grab my keys, and in my schlubby Monday state, stomp over to the corner store. I must have been muttering aloud because the very nice asian man that owns the place interrupted me to say, "We just have cheddar." I don't know what he heard me say, but I was talking to myself. Which, might I add, is completely different than shouting at a television. I didn't want to seem rude so I picked up a box of lasagna noodles and said: If you're out of that, I'll just take this. He offered me a lop-sided uncertain smile with my change. Neither of us had anything else to add to the conversation that didn't appear to make sense to either side.
When I got home I flung the box on the counter.
These are the wrong kind.
She Hulk attack! Before the rage works into the muscles and causes them to explode in green fury, Boyfriend cocks his head to the side and says: Just kidding. Bad joke. Non-joke really. The anger subsides and I stomp into the living room again.
I build myself into a cocoon on the couch, determined to trap myself there for the rest of the evening. The good news was, it worked. The bad news was, it worked.
In my comfort, I was on the brink of sleep, in that weird realm of sleeping but not sleeping. The lines of reality blur in this state and you can never be sure of what's real and what's not. Especially when the television is on, those cartoons can mess you up real good. The oven door slammed shut with satisfaction when Boyfriend filled it with lasagna. Even the oven loves that pasta. It's so good inanimate objects desire it. Lasagna can work it.
While we waited for the oven to have its way with our dinner (not in the sexy way, but how do you think that would work?) Boyfriend sat on the coffee table with a box in hand. While out he came across this box filled with various dog treats for mutt. I passively watched as he opened the box and opened the packages of treats inside. My eyes flick to the television then back to Boyfriend. His fingers dig out a treat from the package he's holding and Boyfriend regards it, then smells it, I glance again at the television and back at Boyfriend just in time to see him nibble the corner of the treat. I will never get used to this. Boyfriend - and I love him for this, I do - tests out any new treats we give Mutt. He will never give anything to Mutt that he wouldn't eat himself.
Have you had these ones before? He takes a bite and lets the treat sweep across his palate. Yeah, we've had these before.
Boyfriend rips into a small box, and bites into what looks like spinach wrapped in phyllo pastry.
These spinach ones are great, try some.
Uh. No.
They're actually pretty good. He tosses a treat to Mutt who gobbles it up like he's just discovered the joy of eating.
I think I can hold out until dinner, but thanks.
Boyfriend shrugs, as if I don't know what I'm missing and puts the treats away. I pull a blanket up and over my head. Was that a dream? Not a dream? Wake me when the lasagna's ready.
Time for tea,
K
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Oh Piss
One side of my family has a saying that I never really thought about until
now. Check the title, that's the legacy my kinfolk have left me with. We say,
Oh piss. It's one of those things you just say when something bad happens. Not
even something bad, sometimes it's just said in an effort to pretend that
you're listening to Boyfriend drone on about boat this, NFL lockout that,
something about Tim Horton's changing their style of hot beverage lids. Oh Piss
is the go-to thing to throw out there when you don't know what to say or you
don't want to be an asshole and swear in public. That's just rude. Therefore,
may I suggest to all of you that this is a phrase you're going to want to keep
in your holster. My Ma utilizes the classic, Oh Piss, Bro keeps it simple with
just, Piss, and I class it up with, Well, Piss. What? It's classy. Goes great
at any event with lace doilies and crumpets. It is most proper to say, Well,
Piss, and dab the corners of your mouth with a kerchief. Prove me wrong.
In every relationship there will be a time where you realize, Well, Piss, the honeymoon period is over. My defining moment took place on a sunny vacation last year. You know, the kind of getaway where you reconnect as a couple, take the defibrillator to your relationship and revive the honeymoon stage for at least a couple more months. It's a proven fact.
For the math freaks out there, please solve for x:
Relationship(Booze + Vacation + Sunshine) = x
I sincerely hope that none of you are actually solving this equation...it's not real math. The fact that I have to tell you this is just embarrassing. Please read no further and remove yourself from this post. We'll see you in the next post providing you don't bring your dumb-assery with you. A-thank-you.
For the rest of you, the answer is, well, piss. Seriously. This is a post about urination. My Boyfriend pissed all over our vacation (not literally, but literally in some sense). Ignore the contents of the parenthesis in the last sentence. Perhaps it's better if I explain.
Sometimes after a hot day in the sunshine, a couple needs to escape to the privacy of their hotel room. Stop. Don't be presumptuous, I'm not talking sexy stuff here. You nasty folk. I'm talking more about the wind-down phase of the day. I like to draw a bath and chill out before bed, usually with tea, but vacations have a way of changing parts of your daily routine. It was some kind of adult beverage that I brought to sip while I pondered the day. Aside: yes, I ponder and spend a great deal of my time pondering too. Well, no, more let my imagination take the helm and entertain me as my brain deserves a break too. You go imagination, you’re a good time. Moving on. What tends to happen when one is in the sunshine all day drinking much more than they should of aforementioned beverages is there is a certain side effect that comes with brightness. Direct light makes you want to hide away in the shadows and slink around like the Phantom of the Opera. Well, piss, that could be fun. Screw this post, grab a mask to cover your hideous faces and I'll meet you at the theatre. Aside: it amuses me that people actually read this blog. I should warn you again of the content of this post just in case you missed the previous heads up: this is a story about peeing. If you continue to read this you're as foolish as I am for writing it.
Let's try the story from the top, my imagination jumbled me up pretty good. I was in the hotel room bathtub with the shower curtain drawn to hide the light's brightness. My original plan was to drink in the tub with a soft candle glow to keep it classy, but one never thinks to bring candles on vacation. Well, piss. There I sat, pondering about bird attacks on humans or something else of rich importance when I heard Boyfriend stumble into the room. I remembered back to the moment our flight landed in paradise, some back-alley doctor met us at the airport. He bellowed, "Clear" and struck us both in the chest with battery-powered paddles before sprinting away yelling, "No refunds" over his shoulder. We both felt different after that encounter. It's always sad when mental institutions shut down and they set their patients free on the streets. I thought maybe that instance was Boyfriend's motivation to come into the bathroom, so we could have a heart to heart while he lovingly fed me fresh pineapple. Frankly, I thought this was a likely guess.
Now, the layout of this bathroom comes into play here. If it were set up differently, I'm certain I wouldn't have been as traumatized. If you stood in the doorway of the bathroom, the sink was straight ahead, immediately to the right of the door was the toilet, and directly beside the toilet (less than a half-foot separation, keep this in mind) was the bathtub where I kept busy inventing any number of neat things in my brain. As always when a clever person takes a bath, they sit facing the faucet. The tub's faucet shared a wall with the bathroom sink. Brace yourselves.
I pulled back the shower curtain, expecting some delectable pineapple, and instead I got an eyeful of Boyfriend's urethra. Well, no. That's incorrect. The urethra is on the inside (you’re welcome for this knowledge). What I did see, while I looked up from where I lay in the tub, was Boyfriend's...golden water shall we say, streaming from his man bits into the toilet bowl inches from my head. ROMANCE OVER! No matter how loud you scream, throw the shower curtain back into place and pour the contents of the shampoo bottle into your eyes, you can't unsee this vision. Minor note: This is one of very few instances where shouting Piss! over and over again does not help the situation. Man pee near my face was never something to which I aspired. The trauma from that experience did it. The Honeymoon era had officially flat lined.
True-ish story.
I would love to say that now is time for tea and take my leave of you, but there's something more I need to get off my chest. Boyfriend, pay attention. Seriously, don't just gloss over these words and pretend to read, usually I find that cute. You know what? I'm just going to read it aloud just to make sure you understand where I'm coming from:
I would willingly sacrifice half my living room in our fingernail-sized apartment for a second bathroom. For the men and women out there that successfully share a bathroom, I fear you. I really and truly do. The opposite sexes were not meant to share this space. Not only does he infringe on valuable real estate for my makeup, candles and the boats that I play with in the bathtub, but he picks the worst time to have to pee. Now when Boyfriend has to relieve himself while I'm in the shower, he just comes right on in and does his thing. I feel like this would be less of a problem if our bathroom light didn't hit him from behind and splay his silhouette across the shower curtain. That's right, pal, we have no secrets! I might not hear it when the shower is running, but damn if your shadowy outline doesn't give away your style. I don't know that style is the right word, but perhaps that shake thing that guys do when they're done has a variety of techniques. I don't know. This post is an official request for you to stop. Piss in a plant please, I'm killing them anyway.
That being said, just because boys have the ability to pee more freely than women does not mean they should. Again, Boyfriend, I saw you at the golf course sneak off to empty the tank. I can catch grasshoppers and see things I don't want to at the same time. When I showed you the jumpy friend I caught you said he was pissed off. To which I say he was pissed off because he was pissed on. The next point is K for the win: How would you feel if I bought a She-Pee and just relieved myself wherever I wanted? Google She-Pee. Never in my life have I ever had to go so bad that I need one of those.
Well. I just reread what I wrote, and I can't say that this is the most flattering post I have done, but they can't all be gold. This one was golden water. Well, piss.
Time for tea,
K
Post Script: My apologies. Apparently I mean NHL in the first paragraph. Of all things to take offence about...
In every relationship there will be a time where you realize, Well, Piss, the honeymoon period is over. My defining moment took place on a sunny vacation last year. You know, the kind of getaway where you reconnect as a couple, take the defibrillator to your relationship and revive the honeymoon stage for at least a couple more months. It's a proven fact.
For the math freaks out there, please solve for x:
Relationship(Booze + Vacation + Sunshine) = x
I sincerely hope that none of you are actually solving this equation...it's not real math. The fact that I have to tell you this is just embarrassing. Please read no further and remove yourself from this post. We'll see you in the next post providing you don't bring your dumb-assery with you. A-thank-you.
For the rest of you, the answer is, well, piss. Seriously. This is a post about urination. My Boyfriend pissed all over our vacation (not literally, but literally in some sense). Ignore the contents of the parenthesis in the last sentence. Perhaps it's better if I explain.
Sometimes after a hot day in the sunshine, a couple needs to escape to the privacy of their hotel room. Stop. Don't be presumptuous, I'm not talking sexy stuff here. You nasty folk. I'm talking more about the wind-down phase of the day. I like to draw a bath and chill out before bed, usually with tea, but vacations have a way of changing parts of your daily routine. It was some kind of adult beverage that I brought to sip while I pondered the day. Aside: yes, I ponder and spend a great deal of my time pondering too. Well, no, more let my imagination take the helm and entertain me as my brain deserves a break too. You go imagination, you’re a good time. Moving on. What tends to happen when one is in the sunshine all day drinking much more than they should of aforementioned beverages is there is a certain side effect that comes with brightness. Direct light makes you want to hide away in the shadows and slink around like the Phantom of the Opera. Well, piss, that could be fun. Screw this post, grab a mask to cover your hideous faces and I'll meet you at the theatre. Aside: it amuses me that people actually read this blog. I should warn you again of the content of this post just in case you missed the previous heads up: this is a story about peeing. If you continue to read this you're as foolish as I am for writing it.
Let's try the story from the top, my imagination jumbled me up pretty good. I was in the hotel room bathtub with the shower curtain drawn to hide the light's brightness. My original plan was to drink in the tub with a soft candle glow to keep it classy, but one never thinks to bring candles on vacation. Well, piss. There I sat, pondering about bird attacks on humans or something else of rich importance when I heard Boyfriend stumble into the room. I remembered back to the moment our flight landed in paradise, some back-alley doctor met us at the airport. He bellowed, "Clear" and struck us both in the chest with battery-powered paddles before sprinting away yelling, "No refunds" over his shoulder. We both felt different after that encounter. It's always sad when mental institutions shut down and they set their patients free on the streets. I thought maybe that instance was Boyfriend's motivation to come into the bathroom, so we could have a heart to heart while he lovingly fed me fresh pineapple. Frankly, I thought this was a likely guess.
Now, the layout of this bathroom comes into play here. If it were set up differently, I'm certain I wouldn't have been as traumatized. If you stood in the doorway of the bathroom, the sink was straight ahead, immediately to the right of the door was the toilet, and directly beside the toilet (less than a half-foot separation, keep this in mind) was the bathtub where I kept busy inventing any number of neat things in my brain. As always when a clever person takes a bath, they sit facing the faucet. The tub's faucet shared a wall with the bathroom sink. Brace yourselves.
I pulled back the shower curtain, expecting some delectable pineapple, and instead I got an eyeful of Boyfriend's urethra. Well, no. That's incorrect. The urethra is on the inside (you’re welcome for this knowledge). What I did see, while I looked up from where I lay in the tub, was Boyfriend's...golden water shall we say, streaming from his man bits into the toilet bowl inches from my head. ROMANCE OVER! No matter how loud you scream, throw the shower curtain back into place and pour the contents of the shampoo bottle into your eyes, you can't unsee this vision. Minor note: This is one of very few instances where shouting Piss! over and over again does not help the situation. Man pee near my face was never something to which I aspired. The trauma from that experience did it. The Honeymoon era had officially flat lined.
True-ish story.
I would love to say that now is time for tea and take my leave of you, but there's something more I need to get off my chest. Boyfriend, pay attention. Seriously, don't just gloss over these words and pretend to read, usually I find that cute. You know what? I'm just going to read it aloud just to make sure you understand where I'm coming from:
I would willingly sacrifice half my living room in our fingernail-sized apartment for a second bathroom. For the men and women out there that successfully share a bathroom, I fear you. I really and truly do. The opposite sexes were not meant to share this space. Not only does he infringe on valuable real estate for my makeup, candles and the boats that I play with in the bathtub, but he picks the worst time to have to pee. Now when Boyfriend has to relieve himself while I'm in the shower, he just comes right on in and does his thing. I feel like this would be less of a problem if our bathroom light didn't hit him from behind and splay his silhouette across the shower curtain. That's right, pal, we have no secrets! I might not hear it when the shower is running, but damn if your shadowy outline doesn't give away your style. I don't know that style is the right word, but perhaps that shake thing that guys do when they're done has a variety of techniques. I don't know. This post is an official request for you to stop. Piss in a plant please, I'm killing them anyway.
That being said, just because boys have the ability to pee more freely than women does not mean they should. Again, Boyfriend, I saw you at the golf course sneak off to empty the tank. I can catch grasshoppers and see things I don't want to at the same time. When I showed you the jumpy friend I caught you said he was pissed off. To which I say he was pissed off because he was pissed on. The next point is K for the win: How would you feel if I bought a She-Pee and just relieved myself wherever I wanted? Google She-Pee. Never in my life have I ever had to go so bad that I need one of those.
Well. I just reread what I wrote, and I can't say that this is the most flattering post I have done, but they can't all be gold. This one was golden water. Well, piss.
Time for tea,
K
Post Script: My apologies. Apparently I mean NHL in the first paragraph. Of all things to take offence about...
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