Tuesday, April 27, 2010

If you're here, then I'm not

If you're reading this, it means you are here, and I'm not.

I must be in Switzerland by now, or if you're only coming here late on Wednesday or Thursday, I'm already in Venice, trying not to drown.

I promise many delectable stories and photos on my return, but you'd better be quick, because a few days later, I'm leaving again for my trip to New York City with my fabulous Slut and her sister and momma (who apparently loves me more than she does Slut, which is typical).

Of course, NYC could be a total wash-out if the Icelandic volcano decides to ejaculate again and ground us in Venice. Get it? GROUND us in Venice?!!

Fine, don't laugh. I thought it was rather witty, and that's all that matters.
See you soon!

P.S. And all you stalkers out there, don't even bother starting to think about figuring out where I live. I have guards surrounding the house, five people occupying every room, and alarms on every door and window. I dare ya.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Mr. Handsome is out to get me, of this I am sure

Well, I'm back from my hospital appointment in Toronto. The end, and good night.

Just kidding, guys. But I'm tired. Really tired. It's a long drive to Toronto, and I did that and back again in two days. That's a lot for a princess. Just sayin'.

The appointment went very well. I have no answers yet, but they took gobs and gobs of blood, did so many x-rays that I now glow, and told me they'll be in touch soon for step 2, which doesn't mean anything to me at the moment, but I'm sure it will at some point. Maybe.


Me. Glowing. And why does my nose look 10 times as large when glowing?

Getting to the hospital was the hardest part. Well, maybe not quite as hard as leaving, but almost. This is entirely due to the fact that Toronto is insane. Imagine a rat maze, and then fill it with cars and people. Then, add a few gajillion construction workers, barricades and one-way-only streets, as well as a stoplight at every corner, and you start getting a bit of an idea of what Toronto is like for drivers. And yes, I know I should have taken the subway or maybe even a horse, but that wasn't even an option because I am very stupid and subways scare me, and horses scare me even more because I've been tossed by a horse on more than one occasion, so it's obvious that horses hate me.

Of course I was late to my appointment, so like the good patient that I am, I called them and told them I was going to be a bit late, and then I kept edging my way through the stupid traffic and construction toward the hospital, continually swearing and shaking my fist and hoping the skies would open, swallow me up, and then spit me out at the hospital entrance.

But no, of course that didn't happen, because that would be all too simple.

No, instead I got to the hospital 20 minutes late, and by the time I found the rheumatology department, I was half an hour late. And the guy at reception gave me the evil eye when I told him I was late, and I so would have punched him in the throat more than once, but he was sort of in charge of the gateway, so I decided to smile and genuflect instead, in case he had a god complex, which I'm sure he did.

Three hours later, I was out of the hospital, an hour later than I had wanted, because the plan was to drive directly back home from there, but the plan also involved driving during daylight because I have night blindness, which makes it a tad difficult to drive in the dark. Hence, the word "blindness".

But no, of course that didn't happen, because remember, Toronto traffic sucks the big one. Not only was the inner city traffic awful, but once I got onto the highway, everyone and their mother were also there, so it was probably faster to walk than drive at that point, which I would have done had there been sidewalks.

Instead, I crawled along for an hour-and-a-half, breathing in the gas of a zillion cars, and slowly causing all the dormant cancer cells in my body to spring to life. I'm sure any day now I'm going to be diagnosed with lung tumours and airway cancer.

The drive was uneventful for the most part, unless you want to include the moment I couldn't find the brake and started panicking, because I was using cruise control, and then suddenly the car in front of me braked, and for some reason my brake pedal had totally disappeared. No lie. My foot suddenly went ballistic, searching left, right and centre for a pedal -- ANY PEDAL!!!! -- but alas, none could be found. Meanwhile, the car in front of me was getting frighteningly closer and closer. Finally, I found a pedal, but it turned out to be the clutch, which only managed to confuse me all the more because here I am pushing like there's no tomorrow on this damn pedal, and nothing's happening, and it almost feels like I'm going even faster than I was. And then, suddenly, as if my guardian angel woke up and noticed I was about to die, my foot found the brake, and I used it, and lived.

I'm thinking Mr. Handsome may have had something to do with that incident.

I got home at 9:26 p.m., which meant I actually did very good time and probably was very lucky not to get a speeding ticket or two. Thank you, Po Po Gods.

And now I've got to go cut my toenails, because they were bothering me all the way home, and now I can't stop thinking about them.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Excitement Abounds

I'm on my way to Toronto today for a hospital appointment with a new rheumatologist who, I hope, can help me with my ever-painful and swelling joints. I've been waiting eight months for this appointment, so I hope it's worth it. Here's also hoping I don't get more than three speeding tickets. Just kidding, Mr. Handsome.

Of course, I'll be driving all by myself with wonderfully painful menstrual cramps, because my period has decided to once again annoy me, although it only happened two weeks ago. Have I mentioned how much I love peri-menopause?

Meanwhile, back on the farm, Mr. Handsome and I had a bit of a free-for-all mishmash of The Internetz vs. Old Technology (aka the yellow pages) the other day, whereas he tried looking up the phone number for a business in town to see if they were open on a Sunday, while I tried to beat him to the punch by looking it up on the internet.

He won.

The internet wasn't working so well in our house that day. No doubt Mr. Handsome's fault to begin with.

So I punched him in the throat. And then we had make-up sex, and it was awesome.

And so goes our very exciting life. You only wish you could be us.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Epic Fail Ninja Stunts, And Why Volcanoes Suck

It would be just my luck to have our European getaway cancelled because of some silly volcanic eruption and a bit of spewing ash. When does it end, people? The conspiracy widens.

I mean, I've been growing my leg hairs out for the past two months (well, more) just so that I fit in with all the Europeans. And now we may not even be going. All that effort for nothing. Typical.

Is it just me, or do you find people often make a really big deal out of nothing? Yeah, that's what I thought. Sheesh.

On another note, I really scared myself on Friday. No, not because I looked in the mirror.

I decided to finally visit this relatively new Chinese grocery market in town because (a) I was curious and (b) I was hoping to find some cheap eats to take home for dinner, and hopefully something that would require simple unwrapping and throwing onto a plate. I'm nothing if I'm not classy. I call it Freedom Fridays. Yes, you can borrow my idea if you must. Just give me the appropriate credit, if you don't mind.

Anyway, I was not disappointed because, lo and behold, because I walked into the gargantuan building and noticed it was filled to the brim with everything Asian, including all-day dim sum plates, and a dinner for five for less than $20! Needless to say, I was pretty damn proud of myself when I walked out of there with a dinner.

What scared me, however, and made shivers go up and down my spine, were the roast octopus with their intact tendrils hanging for all the world to see (the only other place I've seen anything like it is in porn), and duck bills in sealed packages that were somehow supposed to make you want to buy them to eat, and little tiny duck feet that made me want to projectile vomit all over their nicely tiled floor.

Yes, I'll go back there, but only because the food is genuine and cheap, and I sometimes like to feel like I'm in a very foreign country, where people don't blink an eye when monstrous octopus bodies loom in front of their faces.

Now, onto important things...

Stuff I Did While Having My Portrait Painted
By A Famous, Yet Incognito, Artist



 Things I saw elsewhere that you really should look at,
if you know what's good for you:

I've got nothing for you. I was too busy napping and doing biology homework this week to do any blog reading. I probably won't have anything next week either, because I'm in Toronto, and then I have a fundraiser to prepare for with my best friend Slut, and then I have to get ready for our never-happening trip to Europe.

Well, it's not like anyone reads this stuff anyway.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Uses for a zombie robot

Remember her?


I couldn't stop thinking of her.

Here she is, sitting behind a counter at the provincial courthouse, giving people directions. All.Day.Long. Not that that's a bad job, because it's not. You get to meet people, help them, and sit. All at the same time.

And she obviously loves her job, because like I said in Wednesday's post, she was extremely polite and helpful. I think she might be my new BFF.

However, being the perpetual doer of all  things good, I kept thinking of her, knowing that there must be better things out there for her.

For instance, I know she'd be awesome as a protection officer, with eyes like those. Just imagine the opportunities.


Clearly, the perfect job for her. Nothing would get by her. Not even a star-nosed mole. Yeah, she's THAT awesome.

And imagine how super her eyes could be trying to find things, like her husband's wallet, or perhaps her children's protractor.


In fact, she would most probably be quite fine finding two or three things at once. You're getting a wee bit jealous now, aren't you?

She'd also be amazing as a crossing guard. And I could see everyone on the coast wanting her as either a lifeguard, or perhaps to watch for dangerous sharks that could furtively show up at a moment's notice. Because sharks always do.

Now that I think of it,  I'm probably being entirely too optimistic, believing she is a good-hearted person, on this earth only to do good. In fact, she could very possibly be a very bad zombie robot, intent on wreaking havoc on everyone and everything.


Never mind what I just said. I'm staying clear of her, and I advise you to do the same. You're welcome.

P.S. Clearly, I have no life. Please forgive me. And don't send me away.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

I was a beautiful ninja, but only in my mind

I was a ninja yesterday.

I had to go down to City Hall to renew Dee's health insurance card, but instead of City Hall, I ended up going to the provincial courthouse, which could have been disastrous, seeing as they have courts of law there, and maybe even a jail cell or two.

Instead, what happened was brilliant (say that last word with an English accent and with vigour).Because as I walked into the courthouse, I realized almost immediately that I was in the wrong place. Actually, that's a complete and utter lie. I had no idea where I was. All I knew was that the place was buzzing with the po po, and I was as happy as a sandboy (what the hell does that even mean?!).

The lady at the counter told me I was in the wrong place, and I couldn't stop staring at her because her eyes freaked me out. It was difficult looking at her because I was never sure which eye I should be looking at. Ever had that experience? It sort of feels like you've had a few too many vodkas and cranberries, so things are pleasantly spinning, but not enough so that you're prostrate on the marble floor puking your god-lovin' guts out. Oh,. Just me, eh?



Great. And now, all the people who actually know me are going to be calling me, forgetting that this blog is often full of lies, sarcasm and exaggeration, and they'll be all worried about me, and probably set up a secret intervention, and then I'll feel really guilty that they put all this effort into thinking about me, so I'll say, "Yes, I'll go to the Northwest Territories and attend three months of addiction counselling. Gee, thanks for thinking of me," and everyone will cry, and then I'll miss my trips to Swissland, Venice and New York City and just be really cold for three months of darkness..

And now my laptop is freaking out, like it's on to me or something, and everytime I hit the "Enter" key, my cursor up and disappears on me, and I have to spend three minutes finding it again before I can continue with my scintillating story.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, the lady with the spooky eyeballs.

She was very polite, though, so I'll forgive her for her physical disability. You're very welcome, strange older lady with buggy eyes that frightened me and made me want to curl up on one of the chairs in the fetal position and suck my thumb while moaning softly.

She told me I was in the wrong building. And when she told me that, she didn't smirk, chortle or even snort. She just said it, plain and simple. I then made her repeat the directions twice because I needed to look at those eyes a bit longer to try and figure out whether she was a person, or perhaps one of those zombie robots I've been warned about.

Fortunately for me, the correct building was just outside the building I was standing in, and around the corner. I just had to go down some stairs, across a hall, out the doors, and over to the building, which is actually the City Hall, the building I was supposed to go to in the first place.

So, after surreptitiously taking a picture of Zombie Robot with my cellphone camera, I made my way down the stairs. And that's when I became a ninja. Because guys, there were cops. In uniform. Everywhere. Oh.My.God. I gave a fleeting thought to having a fainting spell just so I could be like a damsel  in distress, but I had left the dog in the car. Bad choice on my part.

So, what I did instead was become very nimble. I literally jumped down to the floor the third step from the bottom, and skipped across the big hallway, in front of two officers who were obviously very alert. I'm also so glad I wore attractive clothing (a ripped hoodie and dirty jeans) and no make-up. Also, my hair needed a wash. Awesome.

As I neared the doors to the outside, I noticed another set of stairs in front of me. So, instead of slowly ambling up them like the aged idiot that I so obviously am, I ran up them, skipping steps in-between. Yes, yes I did.

And then, I pushed at the door to go out, and smashed right into the glass. 

There was a loud noise.

There were looks of confusion.

There was much embarrassment.

And so, I then pulled on the door handle, opened the damn door, and skulked off to City Hall.

I can't be sure, but I bet the po po are still talking about me.

P.S. I'm not sure, but I think that perhaps I wasn't a ninja after all, so this whole post was sort of a lie and quite possibly pointless. Can you be a ninja if only the lower half of your body is moving fluidly? I didn't have knives or any motives, so does that mean I actually only made a complete fool of myself, and nothing else? Yes, it probably does.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Anxiety Brings Out The Vennom In Me

Today I was going to write about the stupid squirrel in our neighbourhood, but I'm agitated and annoyed, so I'd rather just bore you with complaints and whining about how I feel useless and worthless and how I have so much stuff to do before the end of this month that I think I might die from the stress of it all.

But, as my friend Slut would say, I just need to relax. Remain positive. Breathe.

But honestly, how do you breathe and relax when you have an anxiety disorder to begin with, coupled with having to plan for three trips in the next four weeks, clean the house, finish up more Grade 11 Biology stupidity, and decide whether to enter the paramedic or the nursing program? I've also been having all these weird dreams that include visions of my deceased parents mixed with strange houses, and very creepy and undesirable themes. Oh, and I have to get my son's health card renewed so that he can actually have health care (yes, actually, I AM a good mother, why do you ask?).

Should I take my laptop on this trip? As well, I have to keep track of library books that I've taken out, get my hair cut, and figure out why Firefox just up and quit working on my laptop on Saturday, which means I've now lost about a millionty bookmarks I had carefully made for sex sites.

Yeah. Tragic. I.Told.You. Like I said, no one could deal with this kind of stress.

I also have to figure out how to pack for both Switzerland and Venice, with only a 50-lb. limit for my bag. Which is bad enough in itself, but, knowing Mr. Handsome like I know Mr. Handsome, he's most probably going to want me to (a) pack only a carry-on bag to make life easier, or (b) he'll want to share a bag with me, to make life easier.

Either way = bad things.

Because if he wants (a) to occur, it will mean trying to fit my whole life into a small suitcase, which as we women know, just does not happen. Especially when foraging into foreign terrain, because not only are you very far from home, but you also have no idea if they actually have things like sanitary napkins or Imodium in their drugstores, which is a very important consideration for travellers, because Travellers' Diarrhea is not a myth.

And also, do countries like Switzerland and Italy provide hairdryers in the hotel rooms? What about shampoo, and soap? And what about adult diapers, or do I really have to try and fit those into my carry-on as well? Are you starting to see the problem here?

If Mr. Handsome wants to go with (b), that may be an even bigger problem than (a) because I would have to share my suitcase with a smelly male, I'd have to deal with his obvious lack of organizational skills in the suitcase department, and he'd leave his dirty underwear on my side of the suitcase, which is unacceptable.

Let me demonstrate with a Venn diagram to clarify:


Click on the image to get a ginormous view of my amazing diagram that took me probably oh 5 hours to create. Yeah, I'm THAT good.

As you can see, I cannot win this race called life.

P.S. After verifying that the above Venn diagram was accurate, I have realized that it may, in fact, not make any sense at all.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed

I'm trying something new out here that may or may not kill me or you, or may instead help me conquer the world, which is totally my goal in writing this blog. Obviously.


I am actually stealing this idea from a few places, so I'm not even pretending that it's my own original idea. Not only that, but this way, I also hold no responsibility for it if it ends up being a totally stupid idea worthy of nothing but shame.


Ahem.


What's the idea? I hear you all asking me, impatience and utter frustration in your voices.


And to that, I say, "Hold your ponies, people! Remember, patience is a virtue, whatever that means. Didn't you ever listen to what your momma told you? Me neither..."


Anyway, the idea. Actually, before I tell you, I'd just like to say that the fact it's taken me this long to actually come up with this idea is a testament to how utterly stupid and useless I really am with anything and everything to do with blogging, social networking, and life in general. Because this idea? It's pretty much obvious.


Did I ever mention I was a gifted student?


So, the idea.


I was thinking that, since weekends are a bit slower in the blog world, because people actually have lives outside of reading blogs (and I'm pretty sure most people read their blogs at work anyway), I at first decided just not to write anything on the weekends. Hence, the Monday, Wednesday, Friday posts, with the occasional Tuesday or Thursday post thrown in to throw everyone off and keep things a little lively. Yes, I have a sad, sad life.


But recently, I started thinking that maybe it might possibly be a good idea to do a sort of wrap-up of the week's posts on the weekend. You know, like a smorgasbord post replete with that week's posts, plus maybe some odds and ends that I thought might be worth a look. Sort of like a Mexican burrito, or maybe that mashy crap that your momma makes the day after Thanksgiving, when no one wants any more turkey and gravy, but there's so much left over that momma puts all the turkey, the gravy, the cranberry sauce, potatoes, carrots and turnips and turns it into something that resembles that dead carcass you saw too late on the highway last week and ran over with your SUV.


So, hang on to your hats, my friends! You're about to experience something so amazing, so unique, so inspiring, it's bound to make you fill your pants.


Stuff I did this week while nuzzling a wrestler's crotchal area:




 
If you want sexy, you need not look any further.

Science experiments suck, and that is all.

And here's some awesome stuff I've seen that will definitely bunch up your knickers and make you want to scream with joy:

Look up "awesome" in the dictionary, and you'll see this girl's face.

This woman is my twin. Or I'm her wannabe. Or something like that.

That's it for this week, guys. I'm tired. It's a lot of work keeping you guys happy. God.

Friday, April 9, 2010

WTF Science People??

So, here I am, doing Grade 11 Biology because I was too stupid to take it in high school, and because it is a prerequisite for me getting into any kind of health sciences in college or university, I must have biology. And my question to the bigwigs is this: Is it seriously not enough that I continuously watch Mystery Diagnosis, 19 Kids And Counting, and the National Geographic channel? My biology knowledge is more well-rounded than your neighbourhood biologist, this I know. What I don't know is whether there actually exists a "neighbourhood biologist".Because that would probably be all kinds of weird. Or maybe kind of fun. And very useful for me right about now.


Although, now that I think of it, we sort of have a neighbourhood biologist IN OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD!! WHOA!!! Although he doesn't actually live in our neighbourhood, but his brother does, so it's basically the same thing. Right? But, I think he mostly deals with birds and twigs and things. Which makes me wonder how someone can actually make a living looking at branches and leaf types. Because I know I could be successful if given a chance.


One of the things I have to do in this worse-than-hell biology course is perform stupid experiments that are supposed to widen my horizons, make me understand the coinciding theory better, blahblahblah.Yeah, whatever. Like I'll ever use any of this crap when I'm saving lives. Come on, people. Give me a heart attack, or maybe a car accident victim without a right fibula, and I'll give 1000 %. I promise.


But no, I have to do experiments with potatoes. Yes. Yes, I said potatoes. Those little root vegetables with eyes. Creepy at the best of times.


So,potatoes. It almost sounds dirty, which I'm all for, but believe me, it wasn't. I had to take a potato and cut three slices, and boil one slice for one minute, another slice for three minutes, and then drop some hydrogen peroxide on all the potatoes and watch the reaction, and then record it.


Everything was wonderful until I watched for a reaction. Because guys, there wasn't one. Except this one:


Yes, I panicked, threw some bricks, and then decided to fudge the results. Because that is what biologists do.

What other option did I have? None. None at all. Because this is what my potatoes looked like, guys.





The one on the left was the slice boiled for a minute; the one on the right was boiled for three minutes; and the one in the middle was raw. The raw one was apparently supposed to go ballistic when I dropped hydrogen peroxide on it, and I was supposed to COUNT THE OXYGEN BUBBLES and record it. Yeah. Right.


But how do you count this?




Clearly, the potato wasn't behaving.


There were no bubbles. Just lots and lots of ...nothing. It actually looked a lot like I had stood over the potato and drooled.


I waited. And waited. And watched, biting my nails down to the quick. Still. Nothing.


A complete fail. An epic fail, as Em would confidently say.


So, I looked up the experiment online, and figured out what was supposed to happen with  each potato slice. Apparently, the more heat the potato receives, the less it reacts to the hydrogen peroxide.


Clearly. I had chosen a rogue potato to help me with the experiment. Just my luck.


I wrote up my report, saying what I thought I should say, instead of what had actually happened. And I was actually quite proud of myself because I wasn't just accepting things, I was actually doing something about it, being proactive, if you will.


In fact, I was so proud of myself, I told Mr. Handsome, and waited patiently for his acknowledgement, his words of approval.


Instead, he said, "WTF, Mary? You can't screw with science."


To which I replied, "The hell I can't. Watch me. If I write down what actually happened, I would get an F. So, you want me to fail? I knew it all along. You hate me. You never support me."


Then Mr. Handsome patted me lightly on the head, and walked away.


Can't wait for the next experiment, guys. Should be another epic somethin' somethin'.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Drowning in Sexy

I just discovered something about Mr. Handsome that I did not know, which is huge (and possibly dangerous), because we've been together now 23 years, and I was pretty sure I knew everything about him, including the location of that strangely-shaped mole just under ... oh, never mind.

I found out that speaking a foreign language in his presence really turns him on. As does me wearing granny glasses. Can't imagine what would happen if I wore my granny reading glasses AND talked to him in Swahili while holding a whip and handcuffs. I will wait while you imagine this scenario.

Let me demonstrate:


And now, replete with granny glasses and Swahili speech:


Yeah. I know.

All this to say that we went to the local bookstore the other day to peruse the travel section, because it's been decided that Mr. Handsome is going to Switzerland this month to give a presentation at some United Nations blahblahblah, and I am apparently accompanying him so that he makes it there and back in one piece. And also, because I begged and pleaded and promised him loads of lewd and illegal activity on a daily basis for the next 20 godforsaken years. I can only hope his Alzheimer's kicks in quickly.

After a few days in Geneva, he and I are going to frolic off to Venice, Italy, where people fall into the canals at high tide.

You may not know this about me, but I am very afraid of water. So afraid, in fact, that if I go into the water at a beach, and the water happens to touch my neck, I freak out and scramble for the shore. I'm pretty sure this reaction is due to a very bad past life experience. I was most probably an Italian princess who went blind in a random cholera epidemic, and one day thought I was walking out the back door and into the gardens, when in fact I was walking out the front door and into the Venetian Grand Canal. Which would just be my luck, wouldn't it.

One of the books we looked at spoke of high tide in Venice, and how the water tends to rise a few inches now and then, and the Venetians put down old boards so that people can keep walking without getting their nice Italian leather shoes soaked with icky Venetian water, and apparently it's no big deal and no one even bats an eye, but then I read something about the dangers at times like this, because when the water rises, you cannot see where the edge of the walkway ends and the actual canal begins.

So...

I am pretty sure I will be wearing a lifejacket during our stay in Venice. But I am quite certain I can still pull off a sexy look. It can't be that difficult.

 The right attitude is half the battle.

Don't be jealous.

Monday, April 5, 2010

WTF me?

We had an international incident here the other night. It does not bode well for our country. Nay, our world. Well, at least for my well-being, and sometimes, guys, that's all that matters.

It was late evening. The kids were fast asleep. All was quiet.

I had taken out my contact lenses, washed my face, and was ready for bed. And then, I heard it: The unmistakable wailing sound of Mr. Handsome singing to Gryphon...at midnight.

So, of course I had to come downstairs. It was a rare "cute" moment for Mr. Handsome, and I wanted to experience it. It's often the only joy I get in our marriage.

Once it was over, I got up to go back upstairs to bed, but I noticed that one of our recycling boxes was still out on our front lawn. It is normally Dee's job to put the garbage and recycling out and back in every week, but he had forgotten. So, I decided to do the right thing for a change and bring the box in myself.

Being lazy and very stupid at the best of times, I decided that, instead of actually putting on my shoes, I would simply stick my feet into them in a haphazardly fashion, with my heels jutting out the backs. Sort of like flip flop wearing, without the flop.

Notice heel of my foot jutting out of shoe. First mistake.

You must remember that I was also not wearing my contact lenses, but instead, glasses that I normally only wear in bed to read.


Contact lenses.


Glasses. And now you know why I only wear glasses in the confines of my bed. Alone.

So, out I went into the dark, taking Gryphon with me for safety.

Everything was great until I hit the second step. Then, my ankles started wobbling in my shoes, and I tried to balance myself with my arms. Things settled down a bit, I gained a bit of my equilibrium again, and made it to the final step. That's when all hell broke loose, and the world collapsed upon itself, and the hell fires rose and engulfed my soul.

I knew I was in trouble when both of my feet rolled out from under me and I started falling to the ground uncontrollably. I ended up landing hard on my hands and knees in the driveway, and then rolled over on to my head. When I realized I was still alive, I noticed Gryphon was standing beside me, so I leaned on him to get back up. And that's when I noticed it.

I suddenly noticed that my shoes WERE STILL ON MY FEET. Which, of course, meant something. I'm still trying to figure out what. Probably just that my feet are too fat to have been able to just swiftly let the shoes fly through the air.

I finally made it back inside, barely, recycling box in hand. I kept my whimpering to a minimum because I am very stoic and have a reputation to uphold.

This is what my injuries look like, guys. Beware, it's gruesome.


I warned you. Please ignore the hairs, which may be even more gross than said ouchie.

I now not only have a very sore and bloody knee, and another knee that is black and blue, but I also have what can be termed "laptop disability", by the sheer fact that my usual posture of setting my laptop on my lap is now utterly impossible due to said injuries.

In other words, it all sucks.

And I'm sure the Al Qaeda had something to do with all of this. They're sneaky that way.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Don't Tell Me To Shut Up Unless I'm Awake, Please And Thanks

The strangest thing happened the other night.

Okay, okay, get your filthy minds outta the gutter.

I was asleep, having one of those weird dreams where nothing really makes sense, but in the dream, it all TOTALLY makes sense. Sort of like Alice in Wonderland. Or my marriage.

I don't remember most of the dream, but suffice it to say that it had to do with the house in which I grew up, lots of strange music playing, mazes of dark rooms, and my family. All in all, one of my better dreams. Believe me. It could have been the one where I get chased through dark, rainy streets by two men with knives and heavy Estonian accents, and I try calling 911, but my phone doesn't work, or else I actually can dial 911, but they put me on hold and the dispatcher then goes out and buys a submarine sandwich two blocks down the street before coming back and taking me off hold, at which point I have been properly bludgeoned and molested to death. And then mutant robot skeleton zombies take off my clothing and take turns putting on my bra and underwear and then laughing and pointing at each other, while rabid, feral malamutes come after me and rip apart my now naked body, and then quickly run away when they taste my blood and realize that it tastes like playdough.

I always wake up in a sweat when I have that dream.

Anyway, back to my other, not-as-bad dream. So, as I was saying, I was in the house, and suddenly I'm in the kitchen, and I look out the window, and it's dark out there, but I can see a few kids in the driveway and they are playing with fireworks. For some reason that I will never understand, I need to yell at them. It becomes this urgent need, like when you're dreaming that you are peeing your pants, and then you wake up, and it's not a dream?

So, I begin to scream at these kids as I scrape at the window with my nails, trying to open it so that they can hear me and then run off in absolute fear, but I can't open it, so I try screaming more loudly, but suddenly my mouth won't open.

And then I hear my husband say to me, "Would you shut up already?"

And I suddenly realize that I am awake, and that Mr. Handsome had actually said those words to me. Yes, he did. He told a sleeping person to shut up.

WTF, Mr. Handsome?

Like, it's not enough that he tells me this on a daily basis when my eyes are open and I am actually conscious.

Of course, I asked him why he had so rudely said that to me, and he replied, "You were making really weird noises and it had to stop."

And I'm like, when am I not making weird noises?

To which Mr. Handsome had no response. 

Which is exactly how I like it.

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