| The Mind of a Married Man |
Mark rented a movie on Friday night that I was totally not interested in seeing. For reasons that I do not quite understand, I can’t bring myself to watch movies that include swords, sprawling empires and crusading medieval characters riding horses pimped out in more sartorial bling than I've had in my entire wardrobe since birth.
So while he watched his movie, I huddled next to him on the couch and sought alternative sources of entertainment from my laptop.
I recently joined Twitter after learning about it from one of my all time favourite bloggers. I swear I am always the last to know about everything. A meteor could be barrelling towards earth at an alarmingly devastating breakneck speed and I bet I would be the last human to know about it because the memo was sent while I was stuck in a line up at Wal-Mart trying to buy a sippy cup that does not leak, for crying out loud, and then seconds before the impending earth-shattering collision, I’d catch a fleeting glimpse of the cosmic destroyer before it landed directly on my head.
Anyhow, as Mark reached his hand into the bag of Zesty Doritos carefully positioned for equal ease of access between us, I saw him glance over at the computer screen.
“What’s that,” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the most recent tweets.
“Twitter.”
“Twitter?”
“Yeah, Twitter. It’s a social media thing, to keep in touch with people. And you know, be nosy.”
“So, if you twittered in the past, does that make it a twat?
And that friends, is an inside look into the mind of the man I married. It’s all about knighthood chivalry and twats.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Marriage |
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| Snow Day |
 Not pictured: All of the blood, sweat and tears shed while hastily digging ourselves out of the driveway this morning to get Mark to the train station on time, only to find out that no trains were running.
Mark is currently hunkered down in his home office, perched over the blue glow of his laptop, a perpetually ringing BlackBerry by his side, and I am so not kidding when I say that he is the most studiously serious businessman wearing nothing but underwear that I have ever seen.
Labels: Comic Relief, Mark |
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| Pimps and a Promotion |
One thing you must know about Mark and me is that we are notoriously sarcastic. The only difference between the two of us is that he can add satiric flair to his words that is actually funny, whereas I always end up sounding like an ignoramus.
Like the other day for example. I brought Nate to a playgroup and the group that was there before us had decorated and embellished a lawn chair with oversized buttons, unidentifiable paper shapes and flowing streamers. And you know how it goes with toddler crafts; you are not exactly sure what they are supposed to be, but you love them anyway because your kid made it. So although I had no idea what the purpose of the chair was, I do have to admit that it was totally pimped out. All that was missing was some crushed velour and purple neon plates.
I am never very comfortable in social situations with groups of people that I do not know and if I had to guess by the silence in the room, the rest of the moms felt the same way. Looking for a conversation starter, I blurted out, “Wow, that’s some pimped out chair other there, eh?”
Apparently, judging by the blank stares and continued awkward silence, everyone either thought that I was 12, or a complete ass for making reference to a pimp in room full of babies.
Note to self: Must remember to stick to boring topics like the weather and, oh my goodness, can you believe how high the Canadian dollar is?
Mark is much better at the whole being social with people and communicating thing and that is probably why he was recently promoted.
This is all very exciting news for our little family because this means that Samson can now afford more dog cookies.
Mark works in technology at a hospital, so while he has been transitioning into his new role, one of his team members jokingly asked how he’s been enjoying the executive limo service.
All serious like, Mark told him that he had to decline it because when he found out that he was getting a promotion, he went out and bought himself a brand new Escalade which he now parks in the ambulance parking zone.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark |
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| Penetanguishene |
Mark has been extremely busy with work over the past couple of weeks preparing for a very important software release.
Due to the nature of the software, updates must be scheduled over the weekend to ensure there is no downtime during business hours, but he can’t work this weekend because a) our nephew is celebrating his first birthday in our hometown of Penetanguishene and b) it’s my birthday weekend.
We were both raised in Penetanguishene and I never realized how small the town was until I started this website and realized that it gets more traffic than the population of the whole entire town.
That, and the time when one of my city friends asked if Penetang had any paved roads or street lights.
So because he needed a very clever excuse as to why he would not be available to work or answer his phone this weekend, Mark told his colleagues that his cell phone will not get reception in Penetanguishene because Bessy, the cow that turns the turbine for electricity there, died last week and no one had time to install the new windmill yet.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark |
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| Putting the Ass Back in Class - September 2007 Edition |
Something that I find extremely amusing is the type of searches that land people on my website. And sometimes I have no idea how they end up here. Like, I do not have the slightest clue what to do if there is a squished a bug in your vagina, but apparently google considers me knowledgable on this matter.
And also on other topics like:
"why the fuck are car seats so huge?"
It never occurred to me curse at a search engine. Because this is exactly what I said to Mark when we were trying to find a car seat to fit our car. If I had known you could cuss at Google, we probably would have saved a ton of time.
"pretending to be blind on weekends"
At first I was like, who does that? But then I started thinking about how funny it would be to pretend Samson is my Seeing Eye dog and watch all the surprised looks on people’s faces as he bulldozed his way through a crowded market and then led me into oncoming traffic.
"freakiest women nipples"
You should see them now that my son has teeth.
"pink eye caused by farts"
I knew there was a better explanation than herpes.
I am now officially blaming Mark for that pesky virus that keeps giving my cats pink eye.
"waking up in unexplained wet clothes at canadian hotels"
It’s hard to keep our igloos from melting this time of year. Many of us find wearing rubber pants helpful.
"bondage balloons"
Sometimes I put on a clown suit and then and make Mark wear one. We are normal like that.
"are those your balls on my face"
Why yes! I put them there especially for you. And it kind of tickles.
"inflated my uterus with an air pump - bizarre"
That might be bizarre, but have you ever sprained your uterus?
::: Humour me some more. What sort of strange searches have you had? ::: PS - I added a new menu at the top of this page. Would you be so kind as to let me know if anything has exploded on your end? I am notoriously anal about these things and will not sleep until I know that it works in every damn browser ever invented over all time. Except maybe netscape. What ever happened to them anways? Labels: Comic Relief, Putting the Ass Back in Class |
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| The Curse of the Kibble |
Every couple of months we make a trip to the pet store to stock up on kibble and kitty litter. Considering we only have two cats and one dog, the combined weight of the above is 140 pounds. That’s like the weight of one entire human in the form of nourishment and a place for my cats to bury their landmines.
Unfortunately, Samson poops in the backyard because he is shy and will not do his business in public. His introversion however, does not extend to sticking his nose in the loins of a complete stranger.
Anyhow, we went to the pet store the other day to buy supplies for the animals. A bag of Samson’s dog food weighs 50 lbs, so when it comes to the heavy lifting, I leave it for Mark. Not because I am a wuss, but because trying to lift that much weight breaches the contract we signed when we got married stating that after spending nine months carrying the weight of his offspring on my person, I was absolved from any further heavy lifting not excluding taking out the trash and random instructions to rearrange the furniture to my liking.
We keep the pet food and kitty litter in the basement beside our chest freezer, which serves as a convenient place to house boxes of frozen pizza for all the gourmet cooking that I don’t do. The freezer sits next to our hot water tank.
When we got home, Mark brought the bag of dog food downstairs and set it on top of the freezer before heading back upstairs to get the cat food and kitty litter.
He made it part way back up the stairs when we heard a very loud BOOM. It sounded exactly like what you would expect 50 lbs worth of dog kibble to make as it pile drives into a hot water tank.
Rushing over to evaluate the damage, we discovered the enormously heavy bag of dog food had not only fallen over onto the ground, hitting the hot water tank along the way, but it had also knocked a valve. The exact same valve that will spray water spray everywhere if it gets knocked by 50 lbs of dog kibble.
Reacting, Mark grabbed the bag of dog food (which was now soaking wet) and when he picked it up, the bottom broke loose and Samson’s breakfast and dinner for the next two months poured out onto the floor. The very wet floor.
How much volume of water does 23% crude protein hold anyways? Two, three, maybe ten times it’s original weight? I guess that depends how fast we were able to shut the water off. I can assure you it was not fast enough.
We didn’t know what else to do with all the waterlogged kibble besides throw it out. I don’t know if I can adequately explain how foul wet dog food is to scoop up, arm full by mushy arm full. Even Samson turned his nose up at the soggy feast and opted instead to lick puddles on the concrete floor.
When we finished cleaning up, we put the garbage bag of sopping dog food in the garage, which is where it has been sitting until today, garbage day.
When Mark lifted the bag this morning to put it at the road, the bottom broke and a giant mass of chicken by-product and mush landed on his feet.
Hello, meet my family. We exists solely for your comic relief.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Samson |
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| A Billboard for Abstinence |
Nate has seemed a bit constipated lately, so on our way home from visiting our family today we made an emergency poop inducing puréed prune run to the local drugstore.
Nate had fallen asleep in the car and we woke him up to bring him into the store with us. This made him very angry. And also very loud.
While we waited in line to pay for the prunes, there was a young-ish looking guy behind us. He looked like he was getting ready to go away to college. The giveaway was the bottle of aspirin and the three boxes of condoms in his hands.
Seizing the opportunity, Mark turned the guy, and over the roar of our shrieking baby said, “Geez dude, they don’t work.”
::: We take the role of parenting very seriously.
And to the mother of the boy having all that ribbed for her pleasure premarital sex.
You’re welcome.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark |
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| A Lesson in Phonics |
 Nate has a toy by Leap Frog called Alphabet Pal. It is a musical pull-toy that flashes, giggles and wobbles along on 26 colourful legs that are each labelled with a letter of alphabet. It is supposed to help teach letters and colours.
One of Alphabet Pal’s settings is to recite how a letter sounds phonetically. So if you press letters that spell a word in rapid succession, it sounds like Alphabet Pal is actually saying the word.
For example, if you press the letters b-a-b-y one after another, Alphabet Pal says b–ey-b–ee.
And by the same token, if you press the letters f-u-c-k in order, Alphabet Pal giggles and says, “That tickles.”
Why, yes Alphabet Pal.
It certainly does.Labels: Baby Nate, Comic Relief |
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| It’s a good thing we love each other |
| We’re having some friends over for dinner tonight and one of the only things we can cook that doesn’t taste like the crotch crease of a sweaty pair of spandex is mozzarella-stuffed chicken breasts. So I said to Mark this morning, “You’re going to stuff the chicken before they get here right?” And without missing a beat he responded, “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”
Labels: Comic Relief, Mark |
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| BOP! |
Nate recently learned to make a new sound effect with his lips.
It kind of sounds like BOP!
It is the exact same noise that Mark makes when he shoves his biceps in my face and flexes. Like, his limbs are so huge that any form of public display must be accompanied by noises to accentuate their exploding rippliness just in case I didn’t notice that his big giant man arms are all up in my kool-aid.
Anyhow, I have a very hard time making this noise. It requires quite a bit of concentration on my part and I’m not used to directing so much thought and energy into how my lips and jaws operate. I find it gives me a headache, which Mark knows all too well. And while I am burning all those brain cells focusing on my lips, I have to remember to wet them in there somewhere or else the BOP! noise is not possible.
I’m being totally serious here. To make this noise requires an effort of elephantine proportions. I figure Mark learned to make this noise from all of the time he spends behind pursed lips biting his tongue from all of the time I spend insisting how right I am about everything in the whole entire universe. The BOP! sound is probably just a by-product of the tongue biting while trying to breathe through all of my hot air. And then, the other day, Nate made the noise.
BOP!
Just like that.
And I thought it was a fluke, but then he did it again and again and again.
BOP! BOP! BOP!
Apparently, I have been outsmarted by my seven month old.
Labels: Baby Nate, Comic Relief, Mark |
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| A Very Nipply Winter's Silence |
We finally got around to painting our kitchen last weekend.
Again.
I should probably stop living with my head inside of a paint can. I also probably need therapy, but at least I’m a good painter. Actually, make that a good paint supervisor because Mark is the one who actually does all of the rolling. I had the very fatiguing tasks of running errands for missing supplies and lifting my exhausted fingers to wipe the sweat off of Mark’s brow.
I also may have strained my neck trying to check out the pecs of a shirtless hunky adonis while I was out on a coffee run.
But we did it. The paint job I mean.
And now my entire main floor is painted in colours that sound like Mother Nature sneezed and wiped my walls with a tissue full of Autumn Haze and Winter’s Silence.
Paint colour names is the one thing about painting that Mark and I do not see eye to eye on. I like the girly names because they sound dramatic and impressive. He thinks they sound too girly and lame and should instead be given number codes, like green 4569, because going to the store and asking for a can of Winter’s Silence is no different than walking up to the person behind the counter and asking them to rub his nipples.
Labels: Comic Relief, Home Improvement, Mark, Marriage |
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| My Box |
A few weeks ago I bought a box.
The purpose of this box is to serve as a place where Mark can empty the contents of his pockets at the end of the day in one neat and tidy spot so that we can stop running around like we have firecrackers up our ass every morning trying to find his wallet and his keys.
I knew I would need to find a creative spin on selling the idea of using this box to Mark because keeping things organized is not how his brain operates. So instead of explaining to him how much easier it would be to find stuff and how much time it would save him from running around trying to find things while his eyes glazed over like lifeless orbs from how dull that all sounds, I just told him how fun it is to put stuff in my box.
And as soon as undertones of sex were brought into the conversation, that damn box became the most important box in the whole wide world and he has been storing all of his man stuff inside of it every since. 
Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Marriage |
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| This is not a hint. |
“Did you change the sheets today?”
“No. Why?”
“They feel clean – did you vacuum them?”
This is from the lips of the same man whose socks I used to find in my planters back when we first moved in together. Although the sock flinging has stopped, leaving socks randomly all over the floor has not, and I’m pretty sure that he still believes there is a magical sock fairy that spends her days skipping about the house with a laundry basket in her arms in search of his fusty sock carcasses to fill it with.
If I believed in fairies, I’d say she deserves a big long back rub tonight.Labels: Comic Relief, Mark, Marriage |
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| Ow! My Balls! |
Samson is not the most graceful dog on planet Earth. In the span of a year and half, our dog has evolved from a cute as a bug’s ear, six pound glutton of snuggles into a goliath-sized plunderer of pillows.
He is also special because his head is made of rocks. And since he likes to be wherever the humans are, we don’t even bother closing our bedroom door anymore because he will continuously ram his great big giant dog head into the door until someone opens it for him. And then by the time you turn around to go back to bed, he has already managed to steal your spot and fluff your pillows and rearrange the blankets just so for his morning nap.
Last weekend my brother and his fiancée came to visit. They are used to sleeping in on the weekends, but morning time around here starts at around 6:00am thanks to the addition of a tiny human that insists on eating the very second he wakes up and because we forgot the door to our guest room doesn’t shut properly and maybe also because we think it's funny, we unleashed Samson on them as soon as he finished his morning pee.
So Samson proceeded to barrel up the stairs at breakneck speed and use his big dog head to bang down their bedroom door before making like superman and lunging onto the bed to greet whatever humans were peacefully sleeping on its surface, or, land directly on my brothers crotch. Since his head is made of rocks, either option suited him just fine and apparently, Samson chose the latter.
Sorry little bro! You didn’t really need those pesky external male genitalia parts anyways did you?
And because Nate does not understand what having 85 lbs of dog landing on your balls feels like, he found it all very funny.
Mark imitating the sound Samson’s big dog head makes when he rams it into a closed door.
Labels: All in the Family, Comic Relief, Samson, Video |
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| Herpes |
Hi!
Meet Simon and Sebastian. They have Herpes.
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When Sebastian, our black cat, was a kitten, I decided he needed a friend. So I called the local pet shelter and it just so happened that a kitten was recently left in a box by the shelter door because, oh, how can I put this nicely, his eye was rotting in its own socket. We were told that he had an infection that had been left untreated for too long and the only option left was to remove his eye. At the time we didn’t know it was herpes, we just fell in love with him and wanted to take him home and love him. Besides, it was Christmas and who was going to bring home the cyclops cat for Christmas?
So after his eye was removed, we nursed him back to health and watched as his friendship with his new brother blossomed and laughed at him whenever he walked into a wall. Simon and Sebastian became inseparable. So inseparable in fact, that even Simon’s herpes didn’t want to be apart from Sebastian, and despite the fact that he received all his vaccines, he still got infected.
For the past seven years they have been passing their herpes back and forth between each other and taking turns getting pus filled eyes that need medical attention so they don’t disintegrate - or something like that anyways.
And because herpes is viral, it never goes away. As in, like, ever. The herpes bugs sit dormant in their bodies until a stressful event happens. So our cat’s life lines have looked something like this:
Travel – the herpes all come out for a picnic.
Move – the herpes invite all the other herpes in the neighbourhood over for drinks to get to know each other better.
Appearance of a dog – the herpes get jealous and start competing for our attention.
Appearance of a baby – the herpes call their friends who then call all their friends and all of a sudden it’s a wild out of control herpes party.
So we are in the midst of battling another bout of herpes (or conjunctivitis, better known as pink eye.) This time however, the herpes have evolved and after so many years of fighting the infection with the same antibiotics, they don't work anymore. The cats now require stronger and stupidly more expensive medicine to make them better.
I guess if there's a silver lining to the thousands of dollars the herpes have cost us, it’s that at least it’s a special kind of herpes that only loves cats.
Because the last thing I need right now is a big crazy dog with even bigger and more crazy herpes.
Labels: All in the Family, Comic Relief |
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