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
Monday, December 12, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The mysterious lemon phenomenon
Sickness is gross. Illness makes me want to, let's keep it polite, spew. I don't have time or patience for it. The thing about the colder season is that it's cold season. Everybody gets all sniffly, sneezy, coughy, phlemy, diseasy, downright nasty. And for the record, when people blow their noses, it's worse than nails on a chalkboard. The sounds just skeeves me out, especially the people who make that honking sound. What IS that? Nope. Wait. I really don't want to know. Just keep your nose-blowing away from me. Far, far, far away from me.
As I have mentioned before, Boyfriend's go-to when he's ill is that neo sicktron stuff. It puts him out, so I may or may not push it on him even when he's just starting to get a cold, or I just need a little me time. Who says that drugging your partner is a bad thing? We have the best bonding time when he's passed out in the living room. We watch shows and movies together that he wouldn't dream of watching if he were conscious. Sometimes we have a good time doing shadow puppets. Oh wait, that's misleading, I do shadow puppets. The light from the dining room shines into the living room at the best angle so that if he's on the left side of the room the shadows land on him. A while ago I was making him look like Gene Simmons in his Kiss makeup. It's all about fanning your fingers out when you position the shadows over his eyes. And one time when he was snoring, I pressed my hand on his stomach to alarm him into silence, but not alarm him enough to wake up. He went, mmm, like the sound one makes when they just finish a hearty meal, then he rolled to his other side and slept in silence. Making memories people, it's what it's all about. We have a good time when Boyfriend is knocked out and on the couch. Wow, in hindsight, if I led with that last sentence for this blog post, somebody may have notified the authorities and they would have found my ether stash. That would be like, nine different kinds of uncool. So I will thank you all for minding your business.
As will happen, there is the stage before the neo sicktron kicks in and puts Boyfriend out. Also, Boyfriend's a sipper. It tastes gnarly, I say hunker down and chug that bad boy, because bleh. It's just so not good at all. He likes to add wedges of actual lemon sometimes to make it taste more...real lemony? You definitely can't say it makes it taste better. Nothing could do that. One night as I'm gently pushing the bottom of his mug higher to pour more of that faux-lemony crap down his throat, he resists and lowers his drink. Boyfriend peers into the darkness of the ceramic mug, and as we don't have an overhead light in the living room it makes it hard to see inside. He squints, then looks at me with curiosity. What? I thought you didn't put any lemon in here. I didn't. Then why is there lemon in it? What? I sit up, look inside myself, and I swear I see a lemon wedge in there too. What in the hell? Boyfriend, though not so put off as to stop drinking the neo sicktron, goes on to blame me for my inability to wash dishes properly. I do! Though I don't like to wash dishes I do it because we don't have a dishwasher. Probably because it would take up half of the free space we have to move in our apartment. I don't disagree, because I truly believe that it's possible that maybe I didn't wash that mug. I don't even remember if I grabbed a dirty one off the counter or a clean one from the cupboard. I'm a little fluffy in the brain, anything is possible. As is customary, I get up to make myself some tea, and Boyfriend follows me into the kitchen with the mug of his now-finished beverage. Can we call it a beverage? No. Beverages, I believe, aren't mediciney. What he just finished was not a beverage. He tilts the mug in the light over the stove and looks in to check out the old lemon from his drink. Huh. What now? Look. I peek inside, bracing myself for something disgusting. Only...the mug is empty. Didn't you see it in there too? I really thought I did. There are only two possible conclusions here: 1) In his medicated winding-down-to-sleep time Boyfriend accidentally swallowed the whole wedge of lemon without realizing (meaning his mouth is bigger than I thought), or 2) We just really need a light in our living room.
Time for tea,
K
As I have mentioned before, Boyfriend's go-to when he's ill is that neo sicktron stuff. It puts him out, so I may or may not push it on him even when he's just starting to get a cold, or I just need a little me time. Who says that drugging your partner is a bad thing? We have the best bonding time when he's passed out in the living room. We watch shows and movies together that he wouldn't dream of watching if he were conscious. Sometimes we have a good time doing shadow puppets. Oh wait, that's misleading, I do shadow puppets. The light from the dining room shines into the living room at the best angle so that if he's on the left side of the room the shadows land on him. A while ago I was making him look like Gene Simmons in his Kiss makeup. It's all about fanning your fingers out when you position the shadows over his eyes. And one time when he was snoring, I pressed my hand on his stomach to alarm him into silence, but not alarm him enough to wake up. He went, mmm, like the sound one makes when they just finish a hearty meal, then he rolled to his other side and slept in silence. Making memories people, it's what it's all about. We have a good time when Boyfriend is knocked out and on the couch. Wow, in hindsight, if I led with that last sentence for this blog post, somebody may have notified the authorities and they would have found my ether stash. That would be like, nine different kinds of uncool. So I will thank you all for minding your business.
As will happen, there is the stage before the neo sicktron kicks in and puts Boyfriend out. Also, Boyfriend's a sipper. It tastes gnarly, I say hunker down and chug that bad boy, because bleh. It's just so not good at all. He likes to add wedges of actual lemon sometimes to make it taste more...real lemony? You definitely can't say it makes it taste better. Nothing could do that. One night as I'm gently pushing the bottom of his mug higher to pour more of that faux-lemony crap down his throat, he resists and lowers his drink. Boyfriend peers into the darkness of the ceramic mug, and as we don't have an overhead light in the living room it makes it hard to see inside. He squints, then looks at me with curiosity. What? I thought you didn't put any lemon in here. I didn't. Then why is there lemon in it? What? I sit up, look inside myself, and I swear I see a lemon wedge in there too. What in the hell? Boyfriend, though not so put off as to stop drinking the neo sicktron, goes on to blame me for my inability to wash dishes properly. I do! Though I don't like to wash dishes I do it because we don't have a dishwasher. Probably because it would take up half of the free space we have to move in our apartment. I don't disagree, because I truly believe that it's possible that maybe I didn't wash that mug. I don't even remember if I grabbed a dirty one off the counter or a clean one from the cupboard. I'm a little fluffy in the brain, anything is possible. As is customary, I get up to make myself some tea, and Boyfriend follows me into the kitchen with the mug of his now-finished beverage. Can we call it a beverage? No. Beverages, I believe, aren't mediciney. What he just finished was not a beverage. He tilts the mug in the light over the stove and looks in to check out the old lemon from his drink. Huh. What now? Look. I peek inside, bracing myself for something disgusting. Only...the mug is empty. Didn't you see it in there too? I really thought I did. There are only two possible conclusions here: 1) In his medicated winding-down-to-sleep time Boyfriend accidentally swallowed the whole wedge of lemon without realizing (meaning his mouth is bigger than I thought), or 2) We just really need a light in our living room.
Time for tea,
K
Monday, December 5, 2011
The other woman
I feel that I'm doing a service for our relationship by threatening Boyfriend's life on a constant basis. If I keep him fearful enough, he'll never dare cheat on me. There are too many a-holes out there that think cheating is awesome, when really it's dirty and disgusting. Are you a two-timing dog? Stop reading my blog, you're nasty. Boyfriend knows how I feel about scumbags that cheat. It's still polite to remind him what will happen on the off-chance he strays: I will chain him down and set him on fire while he sleeps. Cheat and die a flaming death, it's a simple enough rule. Around here we call it house rule number three. Number one: I'm not to be unsupervised in the kitchen, rule number two: keep the liquor cabinet stocked, and rule number four: fair fights are for losers. These four rules make ours a happy home. On a side note, I have a job in the kitchen now: Boyfriend lets me peel potatoes. Done it twice so far and haven't screwed it up yet.
There is one exception to the third rule (aka cheat and die a flaming death). That is his other woman, I know about her so it's cool. Boyfriend and I have an agreement about her. She doesn't come to the house and I go on being fine with how much time he spends either in her or on her. I mean, it gives me a break, doesn't it? He shouldn't be my responsibility all the time. I got myself a time-share, the pamphlets were very helpful in making the decision that a part-time Boyfriend was both affordable and enjoyable. I'm all for polygamy. We're a happy trio: Me, Boyfriend and his boat. She and I get on all right, but I can take her or leave her. How put off were you when I wrote about him being in her or on her? If you said, "very put off" your mind is too nasty to read my blog, I'm a lady you ass face. Of course he can go in her and on her, she's a big gal, got a galley and everything. I'm not allowed in the galley unsupervised either.
That's weird, I thought I was wearing sunglasses on top of my head. I was at some point. I know because it was bright outside and I thought of how smart I was to have worn my sunglasses on my head (it's Vancouver out there, we never see the sun). And then I wore them in the sunshine, and then it got dark at like 3 p.m. (if any farmers are reading, Boyfriend says it's your fault for us having to deal with time change twice a year, so maybe you should send him a fruit basket or a pet goat as compensation, he gets rather ruffled about daylight savings time) so I took them off because only fools wear their sunglasses at night. I bet I put them somewhere smart. Just strange I had the sensation of them still being perched in my hair. Maybe it was a ghost bird that was up there, I don't feel it anymore. Yeah, definitely a ghost bird.
The other woman, yes. She's a Mariner...I think that's right, I'm most positive it is. I'm sure Boyfriend will correct me if I'm wrong, I would wager a shiny nickel on it. Seriously, he's a horse I could bet on and win every time...like when he lights the barbeque he'll always say something along the lines of, I like that I can start it with the push of a button. He does. The boat though, I think is the true love of his life. Well, a labour of love anyhow. He's spent bazillions of hours fixing that old gal up and making her pretty. Oh, and making her work too. He actually took her out last summer on some overnight dates. Good job Boyfriend. Their relationship isn't perfect either. It too, is a matador and bull relationship. I don't know how many times Boyfriend has been frustrated with her and thought seriously of drilling holes in her bottom (again, if you're reading this and thinking gross things, stop reading my blog) and letting the ocean have her. I'm pushing for a viking funeral if Boyfriend's frustration reaches its breaking point. Boyfriend just clarified that yes, he does like her better than me.
I need her in our lives though. She can be the woman that he wants to change. Who spends all her time waiting for him to come home to her. Who feeds Boyfriend's love of all things aquatic and puts up with him interrupting her to look at the vessel across the water just to say, Nice boat. I am not the woman for any of these jobs. I'm more like the trophy wife. Not that I'm a wife, and maybe it's just a participant trophy, but still. I'm not into the other stuff I just listed, got it Boyfriend? And if I may just suggest to all the ladies out there, you should tell your fellas to get boats. You would be amazed the stuff you get away with when they're distracted by fixin' up their other woman.
Time for tea,
K
There is one exception to the third rule (aka cheat and die a flaming death). That is his other woman, I know about her so it's cool. Boyfriend and I have an agreement about her. She doesn't come to the house and I go on being fine with how much time he spends either in her or on her. I mean, it gives me a break, doesn't it? He shouldn't be my responsibility all the time. I got myself a time-share, the pamphlets were very helpful in making the decision that a part-time Boyfriend was both affordable and enjoyable. I'm all for polygamy. We're a happy trio: Me, Boyfriend and his boat. She and I get on all right, but I can take her or leave her. How put off were you when I wrote about him being in her or on her? If you said, "very put off" your mind is too nasty to read my blog, I'm a lady you ass face. Of course he can go in her and on her, she's a big gal, got a galley and everything. I'm not allowed in the galley unsupervised either.
That's weird, I thought I was wearing sunglasses on top of my head. I was at some point. I know because it was bright outside and I thought of how smart I was to have worn my sunglasses on my head (it's Vancouver out there, we never see the sun). And then I wore them in the sunshine, and then it got dark at like 3 p.m. (if any farmers are reading, Boyfriend says it's your fault for us having to deal with time change twice a year, so maybe you should send him a fruit basket or a pet goat as compensation, he gets rather ruffled about daylight savings time) so I took them off because only fools wear their sunglasses at night. I bet I put them somewhere smart. Just strange I had the sensation of them still being perched in my hair. Maybe it was a ghost bird that was up there, I don't feel it anymore. Yeah, definitely a ghost bird.
The other woman, yes. She's a Mariner...I think that's right, I'm most positive it is. I'm sure Boyfriend will correct me if I'm wrong, I would wager a shiny nickel on it. Seriously, he's a horse I could bet on and win every time...like when he lights the barbeque he'll always say something along the lines of, I like that I can start it with the push of a button. He does. The boat though, I think is the true love of his life. Well, a labour of love anyhow. He's spent bazillions of hours fixing that old gal up and making her pretty. Oh, and making her work too. He actually took her out last summer on some overnight dates. Good job Boyfriend. Their relationship isn't perfect either. It too, is a matador and bull relationship. I don't know how many times Boyfriend has been frustrated with her and thought seriously of drilling holes in her bottom (again, if you're reading this and thinking gross things, stop reading my blog) and letting the ocean have her. I'm pushing for a viking funeral if Boyfriend's frustration reaches its breaking point. Boyfriend just clarified that yes, he does like her better than me.
I need her in our lives though. She can be the woman that he wants to change. Who spends all her time waiting for him to come home to her. Who feeds Boyfriend's love of all things aquatic and puts up with him interrupting her to look at the vessel across the water just to say, Nice boat. I am not the woman for any of these jobs. I'm more like the trophy wife. Not that I'm a wife, and maybe it's just a participant trophy, but still. I'm not into the other stuff I just listed, got it Boyfriend? And if I may just suggest to all the ladies out there, you should tell your fellas to get boats. You would be amazed the stuff you get away with when they're distracted by fixin' up their other woman.
Time for tea,
K
Monday, November 28, 2011
Why boyfriends don't carry bags
Booze. That's why. No wait. That's when they DO actually carry bags. When they've got a gallon of the good stuff in their systems. My fella is not a bag man, there are very few exceptions in our history together when he actually broke this rule. Let me tell you about it, and yes, liquor is the key ingredient in both stories.
I'm going to start with my favourite bag story with Boyfriend. In this one, I don't mean a bag as in a purse, I refer instead to a bad of produce. This was way back when...I'm a touch foggy if it was when we were moved in together already or...no, we weren't living together because we were at the grocery store near his old apartment. Right. I was in town for a visit and we went somewhere...though I'm not sure where to be frank with you...anyhow, wherever this magical, mystery place was, Boyfriend and I did our share of elbow lifts. That makes sense how we made it to the grocery store. It was walking distance, because dang if we had enough sobriety between the two of us to make it there any other way. Cab drivers on duty that night: you're welcome for not calling for a ride. Boyfriend made some sort of comment about it being stumbling distance, as Boyfriend will always helpfully point out when one has sipped beyond one's capacity. Righto. We stumbled into the small grocery store and ambled around the produce section. I can't remember what else we bought, but I do remember the clear plastic bag that we loaded up with those little golden nugget potatoes. That's what they're called, right? Golden nugget potatoes? It sounds right to me. You know, the wee ones that are yellowy-lookin'. Somehow we managed to get enough wits about us to split up and search out different items and reconvene at the checkout. Or something like that. We separated for some reason. Those elbow lifts will impair your memory every time. I grabbed something that we needed, as did he, and I saw him walking to the checkout line and I was several feet behind him. The joy of inebriated Boyfriend is how free he lets himself become. He swung that bag of potatoes to and fro while he skipped along and hummed "Singin' in the Rain" to himself. Well, two parts of that sentence aren't true. Based on what happens next, I'm sure you'll figure out which of the three did happen. If anything else, you've got a 33.3333333333andsoforth% chance of guessing right. Suspense over now, I'll tell you what happened. Well, wouldn't you know, as he made it to the line-up at the cashier, he swung forth, with gusto, a sack of golden nugget potatoes that collided with the rump of an elderly asian woman. Bad time to be bending over to sort through your basket dear lady...well bad time for you. I thought it was a hoot. She did not. She was, and I'm guessing here, at a loss of words of what to say to the strange man whose potatoes collided with great inertia into her back door. For the record, that is not a nasty euphemism. Get your mind out of the gutter. She just turned around stunned while Boyfriend managed a giggly apology and looked rather surprised himself. Boyfriends do not carry bags, he didn't know what he was doing.
Boyfriend with a bag story numero deux:
This one is about a purse. Sort of. Well, yeah, it is. It has a purse in it anyways. It's the story about the first and only time Boyfriend has ever held my purse in public. Yes. It's definitely about a purse. That's settled, onward we go. I should preface this with a very important fact: Dudes do not like carrying a woman's purse. Boyfriend doesn't even go near mine when we're at home. Even if I tell him to grab something from it, at best he will snatch it and hurriedly toss it at me in a matter of milliseconds so I can retrieve whatever I said he could grab. Seems to me like he thinks coming in contact with it gives him a dose of estrogen that seeps in through his fingertips. Don't worry Boyfriend, it's not catching. I think you have to pay extra for the purses that give you that extra feminine boost on contact, they spray it with testosterone eliminator I'm pretty sure. Makes your voice go up a few octaves and your breasts become enhanced with prolonged exposure. Everybody knows it's a scientific fact. The main point I'm driving home here is: if it looks like a purse and it feels like a purse, it's meant only for a woman in spite of it being called an Indiana Jones exploration satchel. No dudes allowed. So the story. It was the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday. Some may say that's young, but to those people I say you're all liars. Everyone knows you pass your prime at twenty-two. For those of you that haven't reached twenty-two, go away. I don't need you kids around making me feel like a geezer, have the courtesy to bring a fake I.D. that says you're at least twenty-seven and you can hang out with us grandparents. Seriously. Go away. Many thanks. Well, when one reaches the quarter-century milestone, rather than stay home and cry over wasted youth, one goes out and...indulges...in tequila-based drinks and shooters. Don't judge! It was one's birthday and she was having a hard time with it. Let one placate oneself however she likes. Anyways, many, many, many margaritas later this girl and Boyfriend had been dropped off at the bus loop near their house because you never ever EVER drink and drive. That's what losers do. As much as one looks like a loser after many, many, many margaritas you know she is not a true loser because she and her amigos get home safe every time. Seriously, don't be a loser because I'll find you and give you a couple raccoon eyes as a warning. It's for your own good. I don't like hitting people...without a few practice swings first. Concern for safety is now over, let's resume. Boyfriend and I, rather than wait for a connecting bus that will take us one block from our infant-sized apartment decide to walk the six blocks home. C'mon, it's stumbling distance as a certain somebody likely reminded me at the time, not that memory serves me best that eve. Yes, it seems like a reasonable idea, but after many, many, many margaritas things in the stomach region aren't a-so a-happy. The optimistic way of saying this is: I got to revisit my dinner, though it wasn't as delicious as the reverse of how it ended up in my belly. You know what I'm sayin', I left the drunkard's version of a Hansel and Gretel trail from the bus loop to my apartment. I'm sorry to all of you people and your yards. For the record I was dealing with becoming officially old. And also for the record, one doesn't bounce back at twenty-five the way one does at twenty-four. The good news was, Boyfriend carried my purse for like two of those blocks...he wasn't walking anywhere near me and it was like two or three a.m., but the point is he carried my purse. Good Boyfriend. All it takes is some adult bevvies and Boyfriend holds that thing like a pro. In hindsight he may have referred to it as his Indiana Jones exploration satchel. If Indiana Jones likes purple.
This, dear sirs and madams, is why Boyfriend doesn't usually carry bags. He's not usually that drunk.
Time for tea,
K
I'm going to start with my favourite bag story with Boyfriend. In this one, I don't mean a bag as in a purse, I refer instead to a bad of produce. This was way back when...I'm a touch foggy if it was when we were moved in together already or...no, we weren't living together because we were at the grocery store near his old apartment. Right. I was in town for a visit and we went somewhere...though I'm not sure where to be frank with you...anyhow, wherever this magical, mystery place was, Boyfriend and I did our share of elbow lifts. That makes sense how we made it to the grocery store. It was walking distance, because dang if we had enough sobriety between the two of us to make it there any other way. Cab drivers on duty that night: you're welcome for not calling for a ride. Boyfriend made some sort of comment about it being stumbling distance, as Boyfriend will always helpfully point out when one has sipped beyond one's capacity. Righto. We stumbled into the small grocery store and ambled around the produce section. I can't remember what else we bought, but I do remember the clear plastic bag that we loaded up with those little golden nugget potatoes. That's what they're called, right? Golden nugget potatoes? It sounds right to me. You know, the wee ones that are yellowy-lookin'. Somehow we managed to get enough wits about us to split up and search out different items and reconvene at the checkout. Or something like that. We separated for some reason. Those elbow lifts will impair your memory every time. I grabbed something that we needed, as did he, and I saw him walking to the checkout line and I was several feet behind him. The joy of inebriated Boyfriend is how free he lets himself become. He swung that bag of potatoes to and fro while he skipped along and hummed "Singin' in the Rain" to himself. Well, two parts of that sentence aren't true. Based on what happens next, I'm sure you'll figure out which of the three did happen. If anything else, you've got a 33.3333333333andsoforth% chance of guessing right. Suspense over now, I'll tell you what happened. Well, wouldn't you know, as he made it to the line-up at the cashier, he swung forth, with gusto, a sack of golden nugget potatoes that collided with the rump of an elderly asian woman. Bad time to be bending over to sort through your basket dear lady...well bad time for you. I thought it was a hoot. She did not. She was, and I'm guessing here, at a loss of words of what to say to the strange man whose potatoes collided with great inertia into her back door. For the record, that is not a nasty euphemism. Get your mind out of the gutter. She just turned around stunned while Boyfriend managed a giggly apology and looked rather surprised himself. Boyfriends do not carry bags, he didn't know what he was doing.
Boyfriend with a bag story numero deux:
This one is about a purse. Sort of. Well, yeah, it is. It has a purse in it anyways. It's the story about the first and only time Boyfriend has ever held my purse in public. Yes. It's definitely about a purse. That's settled, onward we go. I should preface this with a very important fact: Dudes do not like carrying a woman's purse. Boyfriend doesn't even go near mine when we're at home. Even if I tell him to grab something from it, at best he will snatch it and hurriedly toss it at me in a matter of milliseconds so I can retrieve whatever I said he could grab. Seems to me like he thinks coming in contact with it gives him a dose of estrogen that seeps in through his fingertips. Don't worry Boyfriend, it's not catching. I think you have to pay extra for the purses that give you that extra feminine boost on contact, they spray it with testosterone eliminator I'm pretty sure. Makes your voice go up a few octaves and your breasts become enhanced with prolonged exposure. Everybody knows it's a scientific fact. The main point I'm driving home here is: if it looks like a purse and it feels like a purse, it's meant only for a woman in spite of it being called an Indiana Jones exploration satchel. No dudes allowed. So the story. It was the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday. Some may say that's young, but to those people I say you're all liars. Everyone knows you pass your prime at twenty-two. For those of you that haven't reached twenty-two, go away. I don't need you kids around making me feel like a geezer, have the courtesy to bring a fake I.D. that says you're at least twenty-seven and you can hang out with us grandparents. Seriously. Go away. Many thanks. Well, when one reaches the quarter-century milestone, rather than stay home and cry over wasted youth, one goes out and...indulges...in tequila-based drinks and shooters. Don't judge! It was one's birthday and she was having a hard time with it. Let one placate oneself however she likes. Anyways, many, many, many margaritas later this girl and Boyfriend had been dropped off at the bus loop near their house because you never ever EVER drink and drive. That's what losers do. As much as one looks like a loser after many, many, many margaritas you know she is not a true loser because she and her amigos get home safe every time. Seriously, don't be a loser because I'll find you and give you a couple raccoon eyes as a warning. It's for your own good. I don't like hitting people...without a few practice swings first. Concern for safety is now over, let's resume. Boyfriend and I, rather than wait for a connecting bus that will take us one block from our infant-sized apartment decide to walk the six blocks home. C'mon, it's stumbling distance as a certain somebody likely reminded me at the time, not that memory serves me best that eve. Yes, it seems like a reasonable idea, but after many, many, many margaritas things in the stomach region aren't a-so a-happy. The optimistic way of saying this is: I got to revisit my dinner, though it wasn't as delicious as the reverse of how it ended up in my belly. You know what I'm sayin', I left the drunkard's version of a Hansel and Gretel trail from the bus loop to my apartment. I'm sorry to all of you people and your yards. For the record I was dealing with becoming officially old. And also for the record, one doesn't bounce back at twenty-five the way one does at twenty-four. The good news was, Boyfriend carried my purse for like two of those blocks...he wasn't walking anywhere near me and it was like two or three a.m., but the point is he carried my purse. Good Boyfriend. All it takes is some adult bevvies and Boyfriend holds that thing like a pro. In hindsight he may have referred to it as his Indiana Jones exploration satchel. If Indiana Jones likes purple.
This, dear sirs and madams, is why Boyfriend doesn't usually carry bags. He's not usually that drunk.
Time for tea,
K
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Duping
This is another post of something I'm not proud of. Well, no. That's a lie. When I succeed, I'm actually quite tickled with myself, it's another one of those relationship victories. When you step on that podium to get your gold medal and the crowd cheers, there's nothing like it. You know what I'm talking about, the duping of the other half. Nothing beats the feeling of when you do your damnedest to pull the wool over their eyes. I can get Boyfriend to do my bidding because I: A) am too lazy to go outside, B) am not too keen on getting rained on, C) have better things to do, D) like to exercise my muscle in getting Boyfriend to do things for me, or E) all of the above.
One of my constant go-tos for duping is the milestone quiz. Ladies, you know what's up here. You ask your fella the date of something important, such as your birthday or your anniversary. Every chica out there knows that dudes are bad with any dates that aren't the superbowl or some other super sports match extravaganza main event thing. It's a given. I'm delighted when Boyfriend even guesses the right month. The thing I like to do is not to get upset when he doesn't know important dates, but to make him think that yes, somewhere in the dusty archives of his brain, he knows days that are important. Yay Boyfriend. I like to go with it, remind him of days that he's declared are my birthday or some day that involves me getting presents. Then he gets me presents for the wrong day, and will have to compensate by getting me presents for my real birthday that say three things: 1) Happy Birthday, I love you, 2) I got you a really good gift for being stupid and way incorrect in thinking your birthday was two months ago, and 3) I cost myself lots of money when I don't remember dates properly. With any luck, he'll forget again the next year and Boyfriend will get duped again by getting me more presents. After all, it's his fault for forgetting your birthday, no shame in milking presents for it. This duping scheme is foolproof.
A long time favourite of the casual duping is the out-of-the-house pick-up responsibility. When I'm home and I get a craving or remember I need something but find myself disinterested in leaving the warm apartment to venture out into the rain it bums me out. Then, those times when I'm lucky, Boyfriend is out and about somewhere making friends over beer or flipping off bad drivers in traffic. The point is that he is out of the house with a vehicle. There is a certain magic here with an unwritten, unspoken rule. If you're out, you have to bring home items requested to you by text message, phone call or telepathy. We're still working on the last one. Sometimes Boyfriend hedges his bets and brings me home a pineapple because he's guessing that it's something I desire. I only She-Hulk when he guesses wrong to promote learning through negative reinforcement. He'll get it eventually. Or die trying. I do like that he has to pass a tremendous number of stores in order to get home. If whatever I desire is on route, he has to pick it up or suffer the consequences. Whatever frivolous want I have needs to be attended to, it's the polite thing to do, and Boyfriend is a gentleman. Well, he will be. Or die trying.
I happened upon an interesting turn of events this morning, and in hindsight, I feel that Boyfriend is learning about duping. This does not work well for me. As always, Boyfriend wakes me when he leaves for work. I guess it's payback for when I get home late and wake him up, or kick him off the couch, or throw the cat on him with her hindquarters toward his face. Immature, yes, but he's the one that says something is the cat's ass and means it to be complimentary. No matter. As it's my day off, who really cares? I've got a ton of things I want to get done today, take the mutt for a long walk, grab a coffee, do some laundry, find a university in which to get a degree in being a samurai, read, go buy some dog food and cart it home like a pack mule, work on my book, dig a tunnel to China, make the bed, shower, practice some voodoo and maybe make plans to go to a movie later. Not a bad day that I've laid out in my head. Boyfriend shakes me awake, like he did the other day when he interrupted my dreams about eating chicken wings, and says his see ya later. I only catch parts of his sentences for three reasons: 1)I've been rudely taken from slumber, 2) I can't listen and wake up at the same time and 3) If I'm not going to remember what he say anyways, why put in the effort? Multitasking is hard. I wake up when Boyfriend shoots a deal my way:
If you do laundry today, I'll go buy some more dog food.
In my head, I'm thinking, Sucker. I was going to do laundry anyway. And I was going to get dog food at some point during the day too.
Sure thing Boyfriend, that sounds like a fair trade to me.
He leaves, and this ol' lady flops back into bed for a few more hours of winner's sleep.
When I wake up, I am pleased. I duped Boyfriend into doing one of the jobs that I wasn't looking forward to. As I smile with victory I stop and slowly realize that maybe Boyfriend isn't so easily duped. I mean, yeah, my plan was to walk to the pet store in the rain and get the mutt some food. Now that I think about it... that's not a job that I usually do on account of having to walk to the store and carry the food home. This is a job that Boyfriend does because he has a vehicle and he loves Mutt. It gives him great pleasure when he picks out food our little picky bastard will actually eat. If he was never introduced to gourmet food prepared by a red seal chef, we wouldn't have a problem. I done been duped! Boyfriend probably thought I was the sucker because all along his plan was to get the dog food anyways. That's like eight different kinds of not cool. I can't believe we tried to trick each other into doing chores that we were going to do anyways. We're both dumb. That, or we're both conniving, malicious, attractive geniuses. Whichever.
It seems there is a trend with Boyfriend's duping. He woke me recently to tell me something.
You owe me forty dollars.
Okay. Wait. Why?
Alright, you don't owe me forty dollars, but you can't blame me for trying. Love you.
Can't believe I almost fell for that one. Again.
How do I She-Hulk about this without admitting the duping that I too am guilty of? Something for me to think about. Or die trying.
Time for tea,
K
One of my constant go-tos for duping is the milestone quiz. Ladies, you know what's up here. You ask your fella the date of something important, such as your birthday or your anniversary. Every chica out there knows that dudes are bad with any dates that aren't the superbowl or some other super sports match extravaganza main event thing. It's a given. I'm delighted when Boyfriend even guesses the right month. The thing I like to do is not to get upset when he doesn't know important dates, but to make him think that yes, somewhere in the dusty archives of his brain, he knows days that are important. Yay Boyfriend. I like to go with it, remind him of days that he's declared are my birthday or some day that involves me getting presents. Then he gets me presents for the wrong day, and will have to compensate by getting me presents for my real birthday that say three things: 1) Happy Birthday, I love you, 2) I got you a really good gift for being stupid and way incorrect in thinking your birthday was two months ago, and 3) I cost myself lots of money when I don't remember dates properly. With any luck, he'll forget again the next year and Boyfriend will get duped again by getting me more presents. After all, it's his fault for forgetting your birthday, no shame in milking presents for it. This duping scheme is foolproof.
A long time favourite of the casual duping is the out-of-the-house pick-up responsibility. When I'm home and I get a craving or remember I need something but find myself disinterested in leaving the warm apartment to venture out into the rain it bums me out. Then, those times when I'm lucky, Boyfriend is out and about somewhere making friends over beer or flipping off bad drivers in traffic. The point is that he is out of the house with a vehicle. There is a certain magic here with an unwritten, unspoken rule. If you're out, you have to bring home items requested to you by text message, phone call or telepathy. We're still working on the last one. Sometimes Boyfriend hedges his bets and brings me home a pineapple because he's guessing that it's something I desire. I only She-Hulk when he guesses wrong to promote learning through negative reinforcement. He'll get it eventually. Or die trying. I do like that he has to pass a tremendous number of stores in order to get home. If whatever I desire is on route, he has to pick it up or suffer the consequences. Whatever frivolous want I have needs to be attended to, it's the polite thing to do, and Boyfriend is a gentleman. Well, he will be. Or die trying.
I happened upon an interesting turn of events this morning, and in hindsight, I feel that Boyfriend is learning about duping. This does not work well for me. As always, Boyfriend wakes me when he leaves for work. I guess it's payback for when I get home late and wake him up, or kick him off the couch, or throw the cat on him with her hindquarters toward his face. Immature, yes, but he's the one that says something is the cat's ass and means it to be complimentary. No matter. As it's my day off, who really cares? I've got a ton of things I want to get done today, take the mutt for a long walk, grab a coffee, do some laundry, find a university in which to get a degree in being a samurai, read, go buy some dog food and cart it home like a pack mule, work on my book, dig a tunnel to China, make the bed, shower, practice some voodoo and maybe make plans to go to a movie later. Not a bad day that I've laid out in my head. Boyfriend shakes me awake, like he did the other day when he interrupted my dreams about eating chicken wings, and says his see ya later. I only catch parts of his sentences for three reasons: 1)I've been rudely taken from slumber, 2) I can't listen and wake up at the same time and 3) If I'm not going to remember what he say anyways, why put in the effort? Multitasking is hard. I wake up when Boyfriend shoots a deal my way:
If you do laundry today, I'll go buy some more dog food.
In my head, I'm thinking, Sucker. I was going to do laundry anyway. And I was going to get dog food at some point during the day too.
Sure thing Boyfriend, that sounds like a fair trade to me.
He leaves, and this ol' lady flops back into bed for a few more hours of winner's sleep.
When I wake up, I am pleased. I duped Boyfriend into doing one of the jobs that I wasn't looking forward to. As I smile with victory I stop and slowly realize that maybe Boyfriend isn't so easily duped. I mean, yeah, my plan was to walk to the pet store in the rain and get the mutt some food. Now that I think about it... that's not a job that I usually do on account of having to walk to the store and carry the food home. This is a job that Boyfriend does because he has a vehicle and he loves Mutt. It gives him great pleasure when he picks out food our little picky bastard will actually eat. If he was never introduced to gourmet food prepared by a red seal chef, we wouldn't have a problem. I done been duped! Boyfriend probably thought I was the sucker because all along his plan was to get the dog food anyways. That's like eight different kinds of not cool. I can't believe we tried to trick each other into doing chores that we were going to do anyways. We're both dumb. That, or we're both conniving, malicious, attractive geniuses. Whichever.
It seems there is a trend with Boyfriend's duping. He woke me recently to tell me something.
You owe me forty dollars.
Okay. Wait. Why?
Alright, you don't owe me forty dollars, but you can't blame me for trying. Love you.
Can't believe I almost fell for that one. Again.
How do I She-Hulk about this without admitting the duping that I too am guilty of? Something for me to think about. Or die trying.
Time for tea,
K
Friday, November 18, 2011
The boyfriend grocery list
Let's be real, I'm no expert on grocery lists when one goes to purchase food. This posting is about the grocery list of items or qualities that your ideal mate has. You know, back before the ball and chain, when you feel like you have the luxury to sculpt your own personal statue of David, complete with attributes and impressive... salary. I was thinking about what I used to have on that list way back when, and where Boyfriend falls on that list of things I was sure I wanted in a dude. Ah youth. Was I ever that young? Well here is the list, the edited version because the original had way too many things on it:
1) Must be able to cook
We're all aware of my shortcomings in the kitchen. Boyfriend gets a big check mark with this one. I have my own personal chef, I'll never go hungry again. Unless I do end up killing him as I threaten to do every now and again when he acts out of turn. I'll have to think that one through before I take him out with a blunt object to the back of the head.
2)Has tattoos
Boyfriend gets a participant ribbon for this one. He does have a fear of needles, so even considering getting one counts for something. One time we were going to get him a tattoo, but he got sunburned really bad, like florescent lobster red. Can't exactly tattoo his epidermis when that's going on. Now that I think about it, there's nothing hindering him from getting a tattoo now...
3)Has piercings
If a fella can rock a nose ring, I'm all over it. I also like a dude with pierced ears. Needless to say, Boyfriend does not have them. He's of the generation where if a fella has his ears pierced, it means he likes seamen. My sincerest apologies, as I'm Canadian my people have a tendency to put ehs into sentences where they don't belong. You know what I mean. I think it means that a guy has a thing for pirates.
4)Wears a suit for his job, and on the weekend chills out man-style in sweats to watch the game.
Okay, half marks for Boyfriend on this one. I also didn't know what it meant to date a guy that loves sports. There is now a reason I avoid the apartment on football Sunday... and Monday night football... and the football on Thursday... and any night NHL is playing... or CFL... baseball... whenever that boat race around the world thing is playing.
5)Has curly dark hair
This is the chart topper. Since I was a wee lass I've been into the dark, curly hair. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest... scratch that... most rugged, testosterone-laden, attractive physical quality in a man. Seriously, ask around, that's been the one constant on my list. No blonds, thanks.
6)He's tall
Okay, Boyfriend is taller than me. Not by a lot, but he is, so check.
7)He challenges me
Ladies, there is a difference between winning and victory. I don't like to just be handed a trophy, I like to earn it. I know I'm not always right, but the reward is so much richer if I'm victorious over something I'm being an asshole about. I do not care however, for those times where we enter the ring and I get K.O.'d. Not cool Boyfriend.
8)He reads
Ha. Boyfriend doesn't read.
9)He knows when to leave me alone and doesn't get emotional
This kind of overlaps with the sports thing. His sport time is my me time. No clingy, tell me about your feelings kind of stuff here. Extra points to Boyfriend for never being a wussy, crying makes me uncomfortable. If we have something to discuss we duke it out MMA style like any respectable couple would.
10)Likes the theatre
Boyfriend does. I know now that Boyfriend does not like the ballet. You learn quickly how he feels when you ask if he wants to go to the Nutcracker and he immediately protects his junk. Dance is a no-no, but theatre is a big yes-yes. Especially if it's that little theatre near our apartment: you get to bring your wine, beer, shooters or what have you that you purchase in the lobby into the theatre with you and it's stumbling distance home. Also, if any people from said theatre are reading, you might want to post clear signs that say you can bring your beverage inside with you. Our first visit there we were pounding back drinks during intermission because we didn't know. Ah Rent, good show.
11)He's funny
Half points because he bombed at the weekly open-mic night in our living room last week. Practice your material and come back next week Boyfriend. I only heckle to make you try harder next time. And lose the plaid blazer, it undermines your credibility as a comic. I've just given myself a terrible idea, WE SHOULD ACTUALLY START DOING THIS! Oh wait, we'd have to schedule around sports and work. I guess we don't need to sleep every night.
12)He buys me presents just because
Boyfriend definitely gets points here. He has bought me so many pineapples! ...That was a lackluster reaction from you, I guess I should've prefaced it for my love of pineapples, in spite of when I overindulge and they make my tongue swell, they're freaking delicious. And he's bought me a hammock, a candle holder, various treats, he's even talking about getting me a muzzle, but says I'll have to share with the dog. Oh wait, that's not awesome at all. He bought me flowers once, only once probably because my reaction was to look at him with scrutiny and ask, What did you do?
13)He likes pets
He better like the pets, I've seen him and Mutt napping together. I think things are getting serious between them.
14)Drives a cool car/motorcycle
Well... one of the first vehicles of Boyfriend's I rode in was his work van. You're probably thinking, okay, so? Well his work van is the kind of van you're warned about as children, an unmarked white van with no windows along the sides. It didn't help that when he picked me up from the airport he said there were puppies and pineapples inside. For the record, there were neither puppies nor pineapples back there. And now he drives a big ol' redneck truck. Emphasis on big ol' redneck.
15)Likes to travel
The fact that he's hoping to retire so I can cover the cost of his tour of the world should speak for itself here. I neglected to specify on my list that I would like to travel with him. Faux pas me.
16)Doesn't wear pink
I have nothing against men in pink, but I do not find it attractive. Plus, I look good in pink, it's my cross to bear and I don't want any competition. I also wouldn't want Boyfriend finding more boyfriends on airplanes during his tour of the world because of wearing pink. But I think the spiciest colour Boyfriend wears is forest green, so we're okay in this department. Oh, my bad, that's Packer green, Packer green. I repeated it for emphasis.
All in all, I think Boyfriend scores pretty good on the list. I mean, it's definitely a pass. I'm not really sure how to mark it, so we'll call it a B+. That's respectable, right? I'll bump it up to an A if I come home to margaritas tonight. Okay, you have until tomorrow Boyfriend.
Time for tea,
K
1) Must be able to cook
We're all aware of my shortcomings in the kitchen. Boyfriend gets a big check mark with this one. I have my own personal chef, I'll never go hungry again. Unless I do end up killing him as I threaten to do every now and again when he acts out of turn. I'll have to think that one through before I take him out with a blunt object to the back of the head.
2)Has tattoos
Boyfriend gets a participant ribbon for this one. He does have a fear of needles, so even considering getting one counts for something. One time we were going to get him a tattoo, but he got sunburned really bad, like florescent lobster red. Can't exactly tattoo his epidermis when that's going on. Now that I think about it, there's nothing hindering him from getting a tattoo now...
3)Has piercings
If a fella can rock a nose ring, I'm all over it. I also like a dude with pierced ears. Needless to say, Boyfriend does not have them. He's of the generation where if a fella has his ears pierced, it means he likes seamen. My sincerest apologies, as I'm Canadian my people have a tendency to put ehs into sentences where they don't belong. You know what I mean. I think it means that a guy has a thing for pirates.
4)Wears a suit for his job, and on the weekend chills out man-style in sweats to watch the game.
Okay, half marks for Boyfriend on this one. I also didn't know what it meant to date a guy that loves sports. There is now a reason I avoid the apartment on football Sunday... and Monday night football... and the football on Thursday... and any night NHL is playing... or CFL... baseball... whenever that boat race around the world thing is playing.
5)Has curly dark hair
This is the chart topper. Since I was a wee lass I've been into the dark, curly hair. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest... scratch that... most rugged, testosterone-laden, attractive physical quality in a man. Seriously, ask around, that's been the one constant on my list. No blonds, thanks.
6)He's tall
Okay, Boyfriend is taller than me. Not by a lot, but he is, so check.
7)He challenges me
Ladies, there is a difference between winning and victory. I don't like to just be handed a trophy, I like to earn it. I know I'm not always right, but the reward is so much richer if I'm victorious over something I'm being an asshole about. I do not care however, for those times where we enter the ring and I get K.O.'d. Not cool Boyfriend.
8)He reads
Ha. Boyfriend doesn't read.
9)He knows when to leave me alone and doesn't get emotional
This kind of overlaps with the sports thing. His sport time is my me time. No clingy, tell me about your feelings kind of stuff here. Extra points to Boyfriend for never being a wussy, crying makes me uncomfortable. If we have something to discuss we duke it out MMA style like any respectable couple would.
10)Likes the theatre
Boyfriend does. I know now that Boyfriend does not like the ballet. You learn quickly how he feels when you ask if he wants to go to the Nutcracker and he immediately protects his junk. Dance is a no-no, but theatre is a big yes-yes. Especially if it's that little theatre near our apartment: you get to bring your wine, beer, shooters or what have you that you purchase in the lobby into the theatre with you and it's stumbling distance home. Also, if any people from said theatre are reading, you might want to post clear signs that say you can bring your beverage inside with you. Our first visit there we were pounding back drinks during intermission because we didn't know. Ah Rent, good show.
11)He's funny
Half points because he bombed at the weekly open-mic night in our living room last week. Practice your material and come back next week Boyfriend. I only heckle to make you try harder next time. And lose the plaid blazer, it undermines your credibility as a comic. I've just given myself a terrible idea, WE SHOULD ACTUALLY START DOING THIS! Oh wait, we'd have to schedule around sports and work. I guess we don't need to sleep every night.
12)He buys me presents just because
Boyfriend definitely gets points here. He has bought me so many pineapples! ...That was a lackluster reaction from you, I guess I should've prefaced it for my love of pineapples, in spite of when I overindulge and they make my tongue swell, they're freaking delicious. And he's bought me a hammock, a candle holder, various treats, he's even talking about getting me a muzzle, but says I'll have to share with the dog. Oh wait, that's not awesome at all. He bought me flowers once, only once probably because my reaction was to look at him with scrutiny and ask, What did you do?
13)He likes pets
He better like the pets, I've seen him and Mutt napping together. I think things are getting serious between them.
14)Drives a cool car/motorcycle
Well... one of the first vehicles of Boyfriend's I rode in was his work van. You're probably thinking, okay, so? Well his work van is the kind of van you're warned about as children, an unmarked white van with no windows along the sides. It didn't help that when he picked me up from the airport he said there were puppies and pineapples inside. For the record, there were neither puppies nor pineapples back there. And now he drives a big ol' redneck truck. Emphasis on big ol' redneck.
15)Likes to travel
The fact that he's hoping to retire so I can cover the cost of his tour of the world should speak for itself here. I neglected to specify on my list that I would like to travel with him. Faux pas me.
16)Doesn't wear pink
I have nothing against men in pink, but I do not find it attractive. Plus, I look good in pink, it's my cross to bear and I don't want any competition. I also wouldn't want Boyfriend finding more boyfriends on airplanes during his tour of the world because of wearing pink. But I think the spiciest colour Boyfriend wears is forest green, so we're okay in this department. Oh, my bad, that's Packer green, Packer green. I repeated it for emphasis.
All in all, I think Boyfriend scores pretty good on the list. I mean, it's definitely a pass. I'm not really sure how to mark it, so we'll call it a B+. That's respectable, right? I'll bump it up to an A if I come home to margaritas tonight. Okay, you have until tomorrow Boyfriend.
Time for tea,
K
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Sick days
Well. It's November. Not sunny, lovely autumn November either. It's rainy, miserable Vancouver November. I'm fearful for my pretty boots that aren't waterproof. Thanks a lot rain. Though I admire you for keeping things green, I feel that you and I have spent enough time together in the last couple decades. I jumped in a multitude of puddles in the past and ruined plenty of shoes consciously. Though it was fun, please help a sister out and don't wreck my other shoes. I sacrificed footwear for the rain gods, there's photographic evidence. Please, rain, go away.
This post is not about shoes, but I do have beef with the weather. Not beef as in cow, you know what I mean. For some reason, disease thrives in miserable weather and it found me. Came into my house it did. And, as it works out, disease found Boyfriend too. I would like at this point to stand on my soap box and declare that I did not make him sick. We had different kinds of sick, isn't that right Boyfriend? If you want to keep blaming me you'll have to regurgitate your stomach contents unwillingly. When that happens I may apologize, but your cough and cold symptoms have me skeptical that I passed disease onto you. I'm just stating facts.
It's interesting though, how very differently we handle illness. When I was sick, Boyfriend couldn't get far enough away from me. I think he was very close to purchasing me a plastic bubble to contain both myself and my germs. Oh no, that might be me accidentally giving him ideas again. For the record, I will donkey-kick you if it even crosses your mind to get me one of those Boyfriend. He would call through the apartment to ask how things were going. When I first got nastily sick, he hollered from the living room, Are you sick?
Really? Is this question actually coming from your mouth? Our walls are thin, buddy, you and the neighbours both know exactly what's going on, lots and lots of verbing.
I'm really trying quite hard not to be too graphic for your sake here, reader, instead of the word vomiting we shall use verbing. You're welcome. Whenever he braved getting close enough to me, the sweetest move he made was a quick bro-hug and a european air kiss a foot away from my cheek. This does not make a lady feel loved fellas. Makes me feel that I've had radical surgery to my face and Boyfriend doesn't know how to be with me any more, like I've mutated or something. Not romantic in the least. Not that viruses are romantic, but honestly, I wouldn't even mind wearing a face mask if it meant we could be in the same room together. No wonder he hardly gets sick.
Then, when Boyfriend is sick I can't run away from him. Not to say that I would want to run away from him, I would want to fly away from him on a jet plane. Running doesn't get you far enough away. In actuality, I'm very kind when he's not feeling well. I went to the store to get him some juice and neo citron (which he says puts him to sleep, so he only drinks it before bed), I cared to ask if he had any last wishes if he were unfortunate enough not to make it through the night, I got him some of my special tea (the kind I've been rationing because I can't find it anywhere anymore! Sadness!) and, most importantly (get your hands ready to catch your jaw when it drops) I watched a hockey game with him tonight. The whole thing. I got bamboozled by his pitiful feverish face. I even know who was playing. Vancouver and...le crap...Chicago. Chicago? Yes. Took me a second but I remembered. Okay, I may have slept through the first period (be proud I understand that it's not innings or quarters, I know things) and woke up with lock jaw, and second period I was busy playing on my phone, and third period I was doing something I'm quite sure, maybe staring off into space. Possibly solving the mysteries of the universe, le damn if I can recall though. The point is I was there, I heard all of the mumbles of nice goal and such from the bundled up Boyfriend, who, I should also announce was wearing fleece pants. If you're just tuning into my blog you might want to go back a few posts to read about Boyfriend's relationship with shorts, fyi I don't date freaks that spend all their time in their underoos. Anymore. We all make mistakes. What I mean to say is that I care enough to be with Boyfriend when he needs me, even if his needs are just a buddy to watch the hockey match with. I can be a good girlfriend, I'm not all She-Hulk and memory loss all the time.
My cat is making love to a box of office supplies... not sexy love, she's just rubbing up against it. Not rubbing up against the box in a sexy way, but it's making her both happy and satisfied. Not happy and satisfied in the "I need a cigarette, that was great" kind of way. I feel like there's no winning with what I mean to say here.
After the game, Boyfriend asks for some tea. I hear, it's time for neo citron so I can go to sleep. I'm entirely wrong, but who can blame me for what I think I hear? I watched a hockey game, I need some time away from TSN and whatever other sports stuff is on tv. Boyfriend gets his neo citron, and this lady gets her couch back. Everybody wins!
Time for tea,
K
This post is not about shoes, but I do have beef with the weather. Not beef as in cow, you know what I mean. For some reason, disease thrives in miserable weather and it found me. Came into my house it did. And, as it works out, disease found Boyfriend too. I would like at this point to stand on my soap box and declare that I did not make him sick. We had different kinds of sick, isn't that right Boyfriend? If you want to keep blaming me you'll have to regurgitate your stomach contents unwillingly. When that happens I may apologize, but your cough and cold symptoms have me skeptical that I passed disease onto you. I'm just stating facts.
It's interesting though, how very differently we handle illness. When I was sick, Boyfriend couldn't get far enough away from me. I think he was very close to purchasing me a plastic bubble to contain both myself and my germs. Oh no, that might be me accidentally giving him ideas again. For the record, I will donkey-kick you if it even crosses your mind to get me one of those Boyfriend. He would call through the apartment to ask how things were going. When I first got nastily sick, he hollered from the living room, Are you sick?
Really? Is this question actually coming from your mouth? Our walls are thin, buddy, you and the neighbours both know exactly what's going on, lots and lots of verbing.
I'm really trying quite hard not to be too graphic for your sake here, reader, instead of the word vomiting we shall use verbing. You're welcome. Whenever he braved getting close enough to me, the sweetest move he made was a quick bro-hug and a european air kiss a foot away from my cheek. This does not make a lady feel loved fellas. Makes me feel that I've had radical surgery to my face and Boyfriend doesn't know how to be with me any more, like I've mutated or something. Not romantic in the least. Not that viruses are romantic, but honestly, I wouldn't even mind wearing a face mask if it meant we could be in the same room together. No wonder he hardly gets sick.
Then, when Boyfriend is sick I can't run away from him. Not to say that I would want to run away from him, I would want to fly away from him on a jet plane. Running doesn't get you far enough away. In actuality, I'm very kind when he's not feeling well. I went to the store to get him some juice and neo citron (which he says puts him to sleep, so he only drinks it before bed), I cared to ask if he had any last wishes if he were unfortunate enough not to make it through the night, I got him some of my special tea (the kind I've been rationing because I can't find it anywhere anymore! Sadness!) and, most importantly (get your hands ready to catch your jaw when it drops) I watched a hockey game with him tonight. The whole thing. I got bamboozled by his pitiful feverish face. I even know who was playing. Vancouver and...le crap...Chicago. Chicago? Yes. Took me a second but I remembered. Okay, I may have slept through the first period (be proud I understand that it's not innings or quarters, I know things) and woke up with lock jaw, and second period I was busy playing on my phone, and third period I was doing something I'm quite sure, maybe staring off into space. Possibly solving the mysteries of the universe, le damn if I can recall though. The point is I was there, I heard all of the mumbles of nice goal and such from the bundled up Boyfriend, who, I should also announce was wearing fleece pants. If you're just tuning into my blog you might want to go back a few posts to read about Boyfriend's relationship with shorts, fyi I don't date freaks that spend all their time in their underoos. Anymore. We all make mistakes. What I mean to say is that I care enough to be with Boyfriend when he needs me, even if his needs are just a buddy to watch the hockey match with. I can be a good girlfriend, I'm not all She-Hulk and memory loss all the time.
My cat is making love to a box of office supplies... not sexy love, she's just rubbing up against it. Not rubbing up against the box in a sexy way, but it's making her both happy and satisfied. Not happy and satisfied in the "I need a cigarette, that was great" kind of way. I feel like there's no winning with what I mean to say here.
After the game, Boyfriend asks for some tea. I hear, it's time for neo citron so I can go to sleep. I'm entirely wrong, but who can blame me for what I think I hear? I watched a hockey game, I need some time away from TSN and whatever other sports stuff is on tv. Boyfriend gets his neo citron, and this lady gets her couch back. Everybody wins!
Time for tea,
K
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