Over the years, Muse and I have developed an acute ability to have conversations without saying anything, without resorting to the mime game. How you ask? Eyeballs and eyebrows tell you everything you need to know. If we go to a restaurant and somebody sitting in the booth behind us gets into my personal space we'll have a silent conversation where our eyeballs and eyebrows say this:
How do you feel about that man's arm splayed across the booth like that?
Not too great, Muse. If it persists, I may lose it on him.
Want me to deal with him?
Yes, but no. You always look out for me, don't you?
Of course I do! (Even though she doesn't say it, I hear her voice getting a little pitchy in my head. I'm quite sure we both hear it, as we both bust out with laughter over our muted conversation.)
Seriously, I love that girl. This conversation technique is something that I thought Boyfriend would get the hang of over the years too, but no. The best example of his inability for this happened whilst we were in line at Tim Hortons. The weather was warmer, and ahead of us in line was this buxom middle-aged woman in cargo shorts. Now I've been conditioned by the world's entertainment landscape to have very little attention span. As such, I can't simply stand in line and be fine. My eyes wander and I catch something that I really want Boyfriend to notice. This is how Boyfriend reacts when I try to converse with him sans words:
Why are you looking at me like that? I pointedly stare at the woman's calf in front of us then meet Boyfriend's gaze again. This is where he's supposed to give me an eye bulge or something that says, "Wow." I have to repeat the action, stare, and meet his eyes. I help him out by tilting my head and mouthing the word, "look." Finally, he bends his neck and takes it in.
Wow. That's a pretty bad tattoo, hey? I squint at him with a "What are you, stupid?" look and just wait for the lady in front of us to turn around. Thankfully, she's not the in-your-face-biker-lady type that she's built to be, and just ignores Boyfriend. I'm surprised she didn't whip around with a switchblade and cut him for his remark on her botched, who I assume to be Michael Jackson, tattoo. I shove my elbow into his sternum and give him a "Shut the hell up" stare, which is quickly followed by my "Buy me some timbits" gaze.
Muse, thank you for knowing what I'm saying without having to say it. Boyfriend, I've enrolled you in a mime class, it's only the first step. Hope it helps.
Time for tea,
K
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Old Man-nerisms
As I sit down to write this post, I peer over to Boyfriend for inspiration. He's slowly rocking forward and back in his chair, holding a paper in his right hand that's folded open to some article about Conservative stuff. His listless eyes drift from the page to the tobacco pipe his ink-smudged fingers clasp in the opposite hand, he sets down the paper. The pro-gun article will have to wait while Boyfriend lights the tobacco, inhales, and exhales, content. He looks adorable in the plaid collared shirt that sloppily spills out from beneath a forest green cardigan. Oh, excuse me a moment. He's fallen into another impromptu nap and I should really pry that pipe from his fingers before something bad happens.
That's safer. I'll let his snores fill the background as the music to this piece I'm to write. Only, what to write? Maybe I could write about that time...
I bought this really cute dress. It was black, a zipper up to the neck, sleeveless, and sure, showed some leg. I put it on to show Boyfriend, did the model strut and twirl on the imaginary runway. Great dress for cocktails. I flaunt, pose -- nay, vogue -- and ready myself for the compliments that will be showered over me, thinking ahead, I pop open my ducky umbrella and raise it over my head. It's bad luck to open an umbrella indoors. I forgot. Luckily, only the fictionalized version of myself uses the umbrella as a prop. Well Boyfriend? Nice, yeah? ...That's one of those outfits for the bedroom that they sell at the lust stores, right? Uh. No. No no. No. No. Wrong. It so was not. Ask Muse. She'll tell you what's what. And that was no dominatrix deal. It was just a dress! Can wear it in front of my Ma but not Boyfriend. Where's the logic?
Or that other time...
Boyfriend and I were watching the Junos. Then a certain somebody hit the stage. What the hell is that? What? On that guy's head (He points like the Ogopogo just surfaced in our living room). Oh. That's Deadmau5 (I yawn, like, obviously). What's a Deadmau5? You don't know? He's the fifth horseman of the apocalypse. People worship him because they fear his wrath. Just kidding, he's a magician. A magician? Just kidding, he's actually a cyborg. What's a cyborg? You know...robot-y. What's that? Speak up missy. He takes his stare from me and redirects it to the television, What the hell is that?
Ha. I was supremely exaggerating/lying before, but Boyfriend is for real asleep and snoring on the couch now. How do you like that? Maybe I should write about what happened awhile ago...
One time when Boyfriend came to visit me in the Okanagan, in the courtship era. I heard him coming from blocks away, the clip-clop of the horses that led his chuck wagon were unmistakable. He pulled on the reins when they arrived in front of my house, making the horsies come to a halt. One of the horsies had a chip in it and Boyfriend said, I borrowed it from a friend. You can bet I'll have to repair that chip. We were rushing down the highway to get here. That was the day he gave me his letter man jacket and asked me to go steady. Oh wait. I'm wrong. The chip was in a borrowed Mazda and was an entirely different time than when he asked me to be his one and only. Oh. And he didn't ask me to go steady. I got annoyed at him on a telephone call months into our relationship and demanded to know what the deal was. Very romantic deciding not to date other people. In retrospect, this lying mash-up of stories isn't even relevant to the post.
Alright. We'll call this post a wash. I have a better way to describe the Old Man-nerisms of Boyfriend. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
That's safer. I'll let his snores fill the background as the music to this piece I'm to write. Only, what to write? Maybe I could write about that time...
I bought this really cute dress. It was black, a zipper up to the neck, sleeveless, and sure, showed some leg. I put it on to show Boyfriend, did the model strut and twirl on the imaginary runway. Great dress for cocktails. I flaunt, pose -- nay, vogue -- and ready myself for the compliments that will be showered over me, thinking ahead, I pop open my ducky umbrella and raise it over my head. It's bad luck to open an umbrella indoors. I forgot. Luckily, only the fictionalized version of myself uses the umbrella as a prop. Well Boyfriend? Nice, yeah? ...That's one of those outfits for the bedroom that they sell at the lust stores, right? Uh. No. No no. No. No. Wrong. It so was not. Ask Muse. She'll tell you what's what. And that was no dominatrix deal. It was just a dress! Can wear it in front of my Ma but not Boyfriend. Where's the logic?
Or that other time...
Boyfriend and I were watching the Junos. Then a certain somebody hit the stage. What the hell is that? What? On that guy's head (He points like the Ogopogo just surfaced in our living room). Oh. That's Deadmau5 (I yawn, like, obviously). What's a Deadmau5? You don't know? He's the fifth horseman of the apocalypse. People worship him because they fear his wrath. Just kidding, he's a magician. A magician? Just kidding, he's actually a cyborg. What's a cyborg? You know...robot-y. What's that? Speak up missy. He takes his stare from me and redirects it to the television, What the hell is that?
Ha. I was supremely exaggerating/lying before, but Boyfriend is for real asleep and snoring on the couch now. How do you like that? Maybe I should write about what happened awhile ago...
One time when Boyfriend came to visit me in the Okanagan, in the courtship era. I heard him coming from blocks away, the clip-clop of the horses that led his chuck wagon were unmistakable. He pulled on the reins when they arrived in front of my house, making the horsies come to a halt. One of the horsies had a chip in it and Boyfriend said, I borrowed it from a friend. You can bet I'll have to repair that chip. We were rushing down the highway to get here. That was the day he gave me his letter man jacket and asked me to go steady. Oh wait. I'm wrong. The chip was in a borrowed Mazda and was an entirely different time than when he asked me to be his one and only. Oh. And he didn't ask me to go steady. I got annoyed at him on a telephone call months into our relationship and demanded to know what the deal was. Very romantic deciding not to date other people. In retrospect, this lying mash-up of stories isn't even relevant to the post.
Alright. We'll call this post a wash. I have a better way to describe the Old Man-nerisms of Boyfriend. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
TelephOH-NO part un
It's been a good day. That is all.
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Two brothers think we should do it
Not IT it. I hate that the elusive "it" has morphed from something vague into something that happens behind closed doors. I don't mean do it in "the van's a-rockin'" sense, I mean do it as in "I know pronounce you woman and husband". At least that's how they'll announce us if we ever take the leap. Man and wife? Get real, I'm not wife-ish.
Last summer I read in some horoscope book that I found in a store that I would have an unorthodox but happy marriage. Stop right there. Don't walk me down the aisle yet. Do you see a Bam ring on my finger? Well, no, and not just because you don't see me at all. Even though I'm not the most reliable teller of tales, I can assure you that we haven't come to the Bam ring portion of this love story (maybe it's more a story based on tolerance). I can tell you though, about a Bam dress that I wore to Muse's wedding. Love that dress. I was the best lady in that circus. Before Muse started walking toward us the priest guy...no, I don't think he was a priest. Muse and Hubby don't follow the book of Jesus or any other holy man or woman. I don't know what he was, but the old guy that was ordained by somebody to perform their wedding...was he a magician? I don't know, but he leans over and whispers, "I understand you're wearing a Bam dress." I say, yeah, look at him sideways because unlike with everyone else at the wedding, I'm not about to yell, BAM! and strut my stuff for a magician-priest. More about Muse's wedding circus in another post. Another day. Where were we? Bam dress, check. Bam ring, absent. That's really all you need to take from this paragraph.
I believe I have mentioned in the past about Boyfriend's friendliness and his ability to attract some interesting characters. Or have I? I think I have, if not, I have now. Boyfriend is a weirdo magnet. About a year ago we ventured to a small pub. Sports bar obviously. I don't know that we've ever gone anywhere that doesn't have some sort of athletic paraphernalia somewhere. Yippee for me. I love me some sports action. If you aren't picking up the sarcasm of that last sentence, get out. Leave the blog space, I have no patience for you. I DO know, however, that Saturday is Hockey Night in Canada. Not Friday. I know some things. What on earth was I talking about? Recap: Bam ring a-no-no, Boyfriend + Weirdos = friendship, we go to a sports bar. Right. We sit down and order some bevvies, and chat with the owner/bartender. Lovely homunculus he was. And he pours them strong. He wasn't the weirdo in the story, he was just a tiny pygmy of a man. Perhaps the reason he was so nice and friendly was because he escaped from a Disney movie. Just speculating.
Moving on. A little while later, these two old men with white hair and super leather tans come in and sit at the bar with us. Americans, and also, friendly. Brothers, you can tell because they look almost like twins. Similar moustaches, same height, clearly not starving. I would've bet there was some kind of relation going on there. For some reason we felt it necessary to take some photos with our new Weirdos. Nice Weirdos, don't take weirdos to always have bad connotations. There's one with the four of us, Boyfriend, Weirdo #1, Me, Weirdo #2, and it almost looks like mine and Boyfriend's shadows have come to life. Or stripes on a zebra. Or keys on a piano. And another photo with me doing a shot of tequila with both of those Weirdos, and here's how that happened:
Weirdo #1 and #2 sit down with us, but it's like they've already decided to become our friends even before speaking to us. #2 takes a seat beside Boyfriend and #1 sits very close to me. Weirdo #1 has millions of questions. Where are you from? What do you do? Are you two married? You're not married? (At this point the other two listen in and I swear I see Weirdo #2 slap Boyfriend a high five for not getting tied down) How long have you been together? Where did you meet? Are you not married because of all the work it takes to plan a wedding? Well, Weirdo #1, I'm going to level with you. It's more of a Bam ring issue. I needs me a solid rock before we do the "I do" thing. This is where Weirdo #1 takes a solid interest in my case and gets pushy with Boyfriend about getting me a ring and getting wed. Weirdo #2, however, takes Boyfriend's side. Boyfriend doesn't need to defend himself, as #2 has got his back just as much as #1's got mine.
"He'll do it when he's ready."
"She's not going to wait around forever."
"You don't have to push him."
"She's not getting any younger."
"They're happy with how things are now, why change a good thing?"
"Has he told you they've been together for two years?"
Boyfriend and I sit back and just watch the back and forth like it's a tennis match. We sip our drinks and just let them do their thing. Eventually, Boyfriend excuses himself to find the bathroom and both the Weirdos look at me. What? I'm not reffing this thing, I'm just watching. But out of curiosity, #2, why are you on his side? You're obviously new, but just to let you know, even though I'm not pressuring him for this, I need to win every argument. I bet he doesn't even know your name. You should be on my side. "You probably don't know my name either". Of course I do, it's Weirdo #2. At the time I did remember his name, but as storytelling goes, you start attributing nicknames and then their real name is lost in they abyss. The point is I was right about his name. He's surprised. I bet you $50 that Boyfriend doesn't remember your name. "How about at drink?" Deal. I've mentioned how Boyfriend is a horse I can bet on and win every time, haven't I? This is how I got a free drink and shot of tequila. And we all lived happily ever after. Oh wait, you're supposed to say that at the end. It's not over yet.
A while later and a few bevvies in, Weirdo #2 finally admits something. "It's been a long time since we've been to a wedding." For the record, we were so far beyond that conversation at that time it took more than a moment to realize what he was talking about. As I recall, Weirdo #1 brightened like he'd just witnessed Boyfriend's proposal. "You should get married in April. April weddings are the best." Uhh, excuse me Weirdos, but you realize that this is up to us and not you? Just because Weirdo #2 has decided that a wedding is in the cards doesn't mean that we have. Back off. Marry off the pygmy bartender...who for some reason has covered his ears with a plastic cover that reads, Bullshit guard. When did he put that on? Things have gotten strange. Both Weirdos have started ganging up on us. "So, will you do it? Get married in April?" Uhh... "We'll be invited right?" Uhh... "This April though, next year is too far away." We did what any sensible couple would do. Finished our drinks, threw a handful of money at the little pygmy and RAN THE HELL AWAY FROM THAT FREAK SHOW!
Time for tea,
K
Last summer I read in some horoscope book that I found in a store that I would have an unorthodox but happy marriage. Stop right there. Don't walk me down the aisle yet. Do you see a Bam ring on my finger? Well, no, and not just because you don't see me at all. Even though I'm not the most reliable teller of tales, I can assure you that we haven't come to the Bam ring portion of this love story (maybe it's more a story based on tolerance). I can tell you though, about a Bam dress that I wore to Muse's wedding. Love that dress. I was the best lady in that circus. Before Muse started walking toward us the priest guy...no, I don't think he was a priest. Muse and Hubby don't follow the book of Jesus or any other holy man or woman. I don't know what he was, but the old guy that was ordained by somebody to perform their wedding...was he a magician? I don't know, but he leans over and whispers, "I understand you're wearing a Bam dress." I say, yeah, look at him sideways because unlike with everyone else at the wedding, I'm not about to yell, BAM! and strut my stuff for a magician-priest. More about Muse's wedding circus in another post. Another day. Where were we? Bam dress, check. Bam ring, absent. That's really all you need to take from this paragraph.
I believe I have mentioned in the past about Boyfriend's friendliness and his ability to attract some interesting characters. Or have I? I think I have, if not, I have now. Boyfriend is a weirdo magnet. About a year ago we ventured to a small pub. Sports bar obviously. I don't know that we've ever gone anywhere that doesn't have some sort of athletic paraphernalia somewhere. Yippee for me. I love me some sports action. If you aren't picking up the sarcasm of that last sentence, get out. Leave the blog space, I have no patience for you. I DO know, however, that Saturday is Hockey Night in Canada. Not Friday. I know some things. What on earth was I talking about? Recap: Bam ring a-no-no, Boyfriend + Weirdos = friendship, we go to a sports bar. Right. We sit down and order some bevvies, and chat with the owner/bartender. Lovely homunculus he was. And he pours them strong. He wasn't the weirdo in the story, he was just a tiny pygmy of a man. Perhaps the reason he was so nice and friendly was because he escaped from a Disney movie. Just speculating.
Moving on. A little while later, these two old men with white hair and super leather tans come in and sit at the bar with us. Americans, and also, friendly. Brothers, you can tell because they look almost like twins. Similar moustaches, same height, clearly not starving. I would've bet there was some kind of relation going on there. For some reason we felt it necessary to take some photos with our new Weirdos. Nice Weirdos, don't take weirdos to always have bad connotations. There's one with the four of us, Boyfriend, Weirdo #1, Me, Weirdo #2, and it almost looks like mine and Boyfriend's shadows have come to life. Or stripes on a zebra. Or keys on a piano. And another photo with me doing a shot of tequila with both of those Weirdos, and here's how that happened:
Weirdo #1 and #2 sit down with us, but it's like they've already decided to become our friends even before speaking to us. #2 takes a seat beside Boyfriend and #1 sits very close to me. Weirdo #1 has millions of questions. Where are you from? What do you do? Are you two married? You're not married? (At this point the other two listen in and I swear I see Weirdo #2 slap Boyfriend a high five for not getting tied down) How long have you been together? Where did you meet? Are you not married because of all the work it takes to plan a wedding? Well, Weirdo #1, I'm going to level with you. It's more of a Bam ring issue. I needs me a solid rock before we do the "I do" thing. This is where Weirdo #1 takes a solid interest in my case and gets pushy with Boyfriend about getting me a ring and getting wed. Weirdo #2, however, takes Boyfriend's side. Boyfriend doesn't need to defend himself, as #2 has got his back just as much as #1's got mine.
"He'll do it when he's ready."
"She's not going to wait around forever."
"You don't have to push him."
"She's not getting any younger."
"They're happy with how things are now, why change a good thing?"
"Has he told you they've been together for two years?"
Boyfriend and I sit back and just watch the back and forth like it's a tennis match. We sip our drinks and just let them do their thing. Eventually, Boyfriend excuses himself to find the bathroom and both the Weirdos look at me. What? I'm not reffing this thing, I'm just watching. But out of curiosity, #2, why are you on his side? You're obviously new, but just to let you know, even though I'm not pressuring him for this, I need to win every argument. I bet he doesn't even know your name. You should be on my side. "You probably don't know my name either". Of course I do, it's Weirdo #2. At the time I did remember his name, but as storytelling goes, you start attributing nicknames and then their real name is lost in they abyss. The point is I was right about his name. He's surprised. I bet you $50 that Boyfriend doesn't remember your name. "How about at drink?" Deal. I've mentioned how Boyfriend is a horse I can bet on and win every time, haven't I? This is how I got a free drink and shot of tequila. And we all lived happily ever after. Oh wait, you're supposed to say that at the end. It's not over yet.
A while later and a few bevvies in, Weirdo #2 finally admits something. "It's been a long time since we've been to a wedding." For the record, we were so far beyond that conversation at that time it took more than a moment to realize what he was talking about. As I recall, Weirdo #1 brightened like he'd just witnessed Boyfriend's proposal. "You should get married in April. April weddings are the best." Uhh, excuse me Weirdos, but you realize that this is up to us and not you? Just because Weirdo #2 has decided that a wedding is in the cards doesn't mean that we have. Back off. Marry off the pygmy bartender...who for some reason has covered his ears with a plastic cover that reads, Bullshit guard. When did he put that on? Things have gotten strange. Both Weirdos have started ganging up on us. "So, will you do it? Get married in April?" Uhh... "We'll be invited right?" Uhh... "This April though, next year is too far away." We did what any sensible couple would do. Finished our drinks, threw a handful of money at the little pygmy and RAN THE HELL AWAY FROM THAT FREAK SHOW!
Time for tea,
K
Monday, December 12, 2011
Matadorable
For my birthday I received a gift, as is custom on one's birthday, from my younger sister. It's called the "Total Bitch Control Kit". I assumed it was for handling my She Hulk. She can get out of control when she's upset. When I open the kit though, it is not what I originally expect. This isn't a kit to control the She Hulk, it's a kit to help the She Hulk gain control. Makes me wonder why my sister wants to help the She Hulk along. Not that she needs any help with her rampagingness (not a real word, do not pester dictionary.com). So very not good, the She Hulk devoured the kit...not in the sense that she ate it, don't be foolish. There's a little book included with helpful phrases that egg the She Hulk on, especially at a time when she craves salty foods. There are quotes like, "battles are won before they are fought", and, "if you can't bite don't show your teeth". The She Hulk has adopted these new mantras and bears her teeth and claws the second she breaks free to start her rampage. Poor Boyfriend doesn't stand a chance. Also, why do the drawings of this total bitch in the book look like a nineteen fifties cougar? Boys, I just left a pie cooling on the windowsill, would you care to come in and have a warm slice? That's the drawing of the cougar talking. I don't make pies. Who in the hell is she talking to? There's nobody here except me. I wasn't expecting the crazy to arrive so soon. Put the "Total Bitch Control Kit" back in its box and throw it to the other side of the apartment. Good job.
Onward. Boyfriend and I have a mutt. Nope, scratch that. The mutt and I have a Boyfriend. The mutt was here first and we collectively decided to let the Boyfriend live with us. After two years of cohabitation with Boyfriend, none of it's mine or his anymore. It's mine and ours. See, I can share...his things...his nice things. He can have his hockey stuff and the football helmet and the kitchen whatsits. I don't even know what any of those things do (including the hockey stuff and football helmet). By all rights at this juncture in our jaunty journey (who doesn't love alliteration? Go away, you're uninvited to the blog) the mutt is equal parts mine and Boyfriend's responsibility. Does anyone disagree? Well all I hear is Fat (the cat for those of you that don't care to pay attention) lapping water out of her dish and nobody saying that I'm wrong, so there you have it. Right again. Don't rush me, I'm gradually getting to the point of this post. Potentially. We'll see if any coherent sentences tap out of my fingertips and onto the screen in front of me. So far so good.
Actually, I'm sleepy. Not that there will be any way to tell in this blog post, but I am going to bed. We'll revisit this post anon. If I remember to. Well I guess if it actually gets posted and there are words after this paragraph it means that I did remember to finish the thought I had here. In which case you're welcome. If I didn't remember, it's not like you'll be able to get upset with me because these words will never make it onto your computer screen. Sometimes I'm so clever I outsmart myself. Bedtime now.
It's only a couple days later. Took me a moment to recall what I meant to share in this post, but it's official: we're on the trolley again. Recently, my Muse and I decided to be clever and avoid all those hectic Christmas shoppers. If that man that barged into me in the mall the other day is reading this, you too are uninvited to my blog. Yes you apologized, but that was only after I rudely yelled something like, whoa, whoa, whoa! to your backside. Uninvited! Muse and I picked a day we were both free, made lists, and power shopped to finish our Christmas shopping. Well, mostly. Next year, everyone is getting a bottle of booze for Christmas, even the children. It makes my life easier. I took the mutt out for a long walk before we left, and Muse whisked me away to spend much too much of my hard-earned dollars. Fast forward to a few hours later. We were waiting for the last gift of the day to be ready (a personalized something, you know how long things like this can take, especially when the person doing it is a weirdo and also a doddler who is quite possibly dyslexic). We were a little later than I expected, so I text Boyfriend to ask him if he was near the apartment so he could take the mutt out to lift a leg. It was not in his plan as he, too, had things to do. As he can't leave his little mutt buddy to cross his legs and hold it for another hour before I get home, Boyfriend went to let him out. However, as I have put him out of his way, Boyfriend texts me to say that you can't leave a dog alone for so long. The She Hulk coated me instantly and rage coursed through my veins. I never, never, ever leave the mutt alone for so long. Especially on purpose, that little mutt has a life most people would dream of. I plan my day around him because I love that little beast. On the drive home, I obsess over this, thinking how dare he say something like that? Is he inferring that I am a bad pet owner? Because I would STRONGLY disagree. I felt a little bad for Muse, who had the pleasure of a front row seat as I worked the She Hulk up and egged her on with imagined thoughts of what Boyfriend was thinking.
I got home, arms full of packages and bags, dropping them in the bedroom as I took my loaded pistols from their holsters. Then I shot him four times in the chest. Bang! That's how you do it where I come from. Okay, no. Not really. The loaded pistols are the fiery words in my chest that will shoot out as soon as he says the wrong thing. I'm just waiting for the go-ahead. For the record, the wrong thing could have been anything from, The dog peed on the carpet to I just made dinner for us. Who am I kidding? If he sneezed I would've lit the cannons. The She Hulk was angry.
Instead, he says something that I'm not bracing myself for. He looks a little upset, and tells me about part of his day. At one point during his running around, he saw a mouse caught in a mouse trap (one of the snappy ones, not the humane ones that let you free them back into the wild after you catch them), but it managed to kind of escape before the trap could kill him, but instead trapped and broke the little thing's leg. So Boyfriend, heart breaking, thought the best thing to do instead of let it slowly die while caught in the trap, would be to kill it quickly so it didn't have to suffer anymore. Sweet, yes? It just turns out that he probably didn't pick the best way to "off it" as it were. Clearly, Boyfriend lacks the cold-hearted killer instinct, and figures the nicest way to send it off is by drowning it. I'm sure you can imagine how the story ended. The mouse did not "go gently into that good night" as easily as Boyfriend thought it would. It fought and struggled for breath, ripping into Boyfriend's fragile heart as long as it continued to live. Eventually though, it succumbed to death. Boyfriend hasn't been the same since. I think he's haunted by the ghost of that little mouse.
What kind of vicious beast would the She Hulk be if she tore him apart after this? I mean, his text did encourage her, but in the end, he was just too matadorable to charge at. That's why she waited a full twenty-four hours before she threw down the gauntlet. It's the polite thing to do when one is in mourning. I've got control of the She Hulk.
Time for tea,
K
Onward. Boyfriend and I have a mutt. Nope, scratch that. The mutt and I have a Boyfriend. The mutt was here first and we collectively decided to let the Boyfriend live with us. After two years of cohabitation with Boyfriend, none of it's mine or his anymore. It's mine and ours. See, I can share...his things...his nice things. He can have his hockey stuff and the football helmet and the kitchen whatsits. I don't even know what any of those things do (including the hockey stuff and football helmet). By all rights at this juncture in our jaunty journey (who doesn't love alliteration? Go away, you're uninvited to the blog) the mutt is equal parts mine and Boyfriend's responsibility. Does anyone disagree? Well all I hear is Fat (the cat for those of you that don't care to pay attention) lapping water out of her dish and nobody saying that I'm wrong, so there you have it. Right again. Don't rush me, I'm gradually getting to the point of this post. Potentially. We'll see if any coherent sentences tap out of my fingertips and onto the screen in front of me. So far so good.
Actually, I'm sleepy. Not that there will be any way to tell in this blog post, but I am going to bed. We'll revisit this post anon. If I remember to. Well I guess if it actually gets posted and there are words after this paragraph it means that I did remember to finish the thought I had here. In which case you're welcome. If I didn't remember, it's not like you'll be able to get upset with me because these words will never make it onto your computer screen. Sometimes I'm so clever I outsmart myself. Bedtime now.
It's only a couple days later. Took me a moment to recall what I meant to share in this post, but it's official: we're on the trolley again. Recently, my Muse and I decided to be clever and avoid all those hectic Christmas shoppers. If that man that barged into me in the mall the other day is reading this, you too are uninvited to my blog. Yes you apologized, but that was only after I rudely yelled something like, whoa, whoa, whoa! to your backside. Uninvited! Muse and I picked a day we were both free, made lists, and power shopped to finish our Christmas shopping. Well, mostly. Next year, everyone is getting a bottle of booze for Christmas, even the children. It makes my life easier. I took the mutt out for a long walk before we left, and Muse whisked me away to spend much too much of my hard-earned dollars. Fast forward to a few hours later. We were waiting for the last gift of the day to be ready (a personalized something, you know how long things like this can take, especially when the person doing it is a weirdo and also a doddler who is quite possibly dyslexic). We were a little later than I expected, so I text Boyfriend to ask him if he was near the apartment so he could take the mutt out to lift a leg. It was not in his plan as he, too, had things to do. As he can't leave his little mutt buddy to cross his legs and hold it for another hour before I get home, Boyfriend went to let him out. However, as I have put him out of his way, Boyfriend texts me to say that you can't leave a dog alone for so long. The She Hulk coated me instantly and rage coursed through my veins. I never, never, ever leave the mutt alone for so long. Especially on purpose, that little mutt has a life most people would dream of. I plan my day around him because I love that little beast. On the drive home, I obsess over this, thinking how dare he say something like that? Is he inferring that I am a bad pet owner? Because I would STRONGLY disagree. I felt a little bad for Muse, who had the pleasure of a front row seat as I worked the She Hulk up and egged her on with imagined thoughts of what Boyfriend was thinking.
I got home, arms full of packages and bags, dropping them in the bedroom as I took my loaded pistols from their holsters. Then I shot him four times in the chest. Bang! That's how you do it where I come from. Okay, no. Not really. The loaded pistols are the fiery words in my chest that will shoot out as soon as he says the wrong thing. I'm just waiting for the go-ahead. For the record, the wrong thing could have been anything from, The dog peed on the carpet to I just made dinner for us. Who am I kidding? If he sneezed I would've lit the cannons. The She Hulk was angry.
Instead, he says something that I'm not bracing myself for. He looks a little upset, and tells me about part of his day. At one point during his running around, he saw a mouse caught in a mouse trap (one of the snappy ones, not the humane ones that let you free them back into the wild after you catch them), but it managed to kind of escape before the trap could kill him, but instead trapped and broke the little thing's leg. So Boyfriend, heart breaking, thought the best thing to do instead of let it slowly die while caught in the trap, would be to kill it quickly so it didn't have to suffer anymore. Sweet, yes? It just turns out that he probably didn't pick the best way to "off it" as it were. Clearly, Boyfriend lacks the cold-hearted killer instinct, and figures the nicest way to send it off is by drowning it. I'm sure you can imagine how the story ended. The mouse did not "go gently into that good night" as easily as Boyfriend thought it would. It fought and struggled for breath, ripping into Boyfriend's fragile heart as long as it continued to live. Eventually though, it succumbed to death. Boyfriend hasn't been the same since. I think he's haunted by the ghost of that little mouse.
What kind of vicious beast would the She Hulk be if she tore him apart after this? I mean, his text did encourage her, but in the end, he was just too matadorable to charge at. That's why she waited a full twenty-four hours before she threw down the gauntlet. It's the polite thing to do when one is in mourning. I've got control of the She Hulk.
Time for tea,
K
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