Monday, 31 October 2011

Andrew - Interior Designer

Me: Why don't we put up some pictures of you when you were younger?

Andrew: Cause I don't want to. It's in the past, I don't need to relive it. Except for all the cupcakes I've eaten. If I could have a picture of every cupcake I've eaten, I would like it.

Sunday, 30 October 2011

A Case of Mistaken Identity. Texting-style.

2:02 - Andrew is currently in a text war with some girl called Kaitlyn who thinks he's actually "Matt". She apparently wants her watch back, which cost her 90$. Andrew also owes her 40$. She's not believing that she's got the wrong number.

2:15 - Andrew decided to have some fun and told her that he traded in the watch for a six pack.

2:30 - We just found out Andrew is her ex. I am also a 15 year old ugly, greasy tramp who looks like a man. I also presume that I helped him cheat on her.

3:00 - She's not believing Andrew whatsoever. She's going on about how Matt pretends he's tough shit, but she's seen him cry a bunch of times, and that he killed his dog. And then cried.

3:26 - Kaitlyn is going on about how "she's not stupid" and that "jake" gave her the number, so it's the right one.

3:45 - She's getting angry and calling Andrew names now, and demanding her money.

3:55 - I've decided to join in on the texting war. I'm going in.

Me: Kaitlyn?

Her: Who's this :s

(Good, she's scared. I'll stay persistent)

Me: Is this Kaitlyn?
 - Yeah, this is obviously Kaitlyn.

Her: Who is this
 - Lmfao not gunna say?

(Is she taunting me?!)

Me: Please stop texting my partner. He was entertained at first, but now he's tired of this.
(I'm not going to be a bitch straight out of the gate. Who do you think I am?)

Her: Who's this

(God, she's annoying. Plus, she doesn't know proper punctuation use. Minus one point for Kaitlyn.)

Me: Andrew's common law.

Her: Lmfao that's my ex boyfriends number n I know it

(Oh dear Lord. Not only does she not get it at all, but she also just used a letter as a word.)

Me: Seriously, if he was your ex, you should know his number better. But I'm glad you're getting a kick out of this as much as we are :)
 (At this point, I'm being kinda condescending, I know. But I can't help it.)

Her: Seriously it is cause I have it in my phone

(What the hell kind of logic is this? Is her phone all-knowing?)

Me: Well, maybe you put it in when you were drinking? I admire your conviction, but you definitely have the wrong number.

Her: I've been texting that number since july soo

(Ok, this girl is stupid. I'm bringing in some concrete evidence.)

4:15 - She's been texting us for about 2 hours now. She's quite persistent.

Me: And is this his dog? Cause it's ours for sure. And I've seen his license. 100% sure there's no double life going on.

4:26 - No messages from her yet. From a text a minute to this, I think she's done.

(But I need to throw in the last word. Again. :P)

Me: I'm glad you finally got the message.

I think I'll message her again tomorrow :)


While rummaging for research articles

Me: Where's all my shit?! .....

My shit is bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S. MY SHIT IS BANANAS, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

Andrew: Hun, it's "This shit is bananas, not "my shit".

Me: Oops.

Saturday, 29 October 2011

Guess who Locked Both our Set of Keys in the house?




You should definitely follow me now.

Why Catholics are Crazy (Or, when Willpower bites you in the Butt)

Like a lot of people, I was born into a certain faith. Like a lot of people, I'm not actually practicing. As a French Catholic, I would be expected be really into holy relics, to avoid the Seven Deadly Sins (most of them being really fun and part of my day to day living) and completely against birth control (Ha!).

Though I don't go to church and only use my rosary as a good luck charm for when I had exams, there is one tradition that I just can't seem to shake: Lent. For all you non-Catholics out there, Lent is the six week period before Easter when Believers prepare themselves for Christ's resurrection. Although hardcore people will pray, fast, repent and abstain, etc., most go straight for the “Self-denial” part. That means giving up something for Lent, usually something you pretend is really important, so you look all pious, but in reality you don’t actually care about. Lots of people go for stuff like pop or chips, or Facebook between the hours of 3 and 6am.

I, every year, foolishly choose chocolate. I equate that to a crack head with a stolen stash being sent to Disney Land. Imagine the agony of sitting through “It’s a Small World After All” while going through withdrawal. Anyways, I digress.

Because of my choices, my yearly spring tradition is to be a total bitch.  But I actually make it through without touching any chocolate. Because of my tendency to go way over my own head, in 11th grade I decided that hell, if I could do no chocolate, I could do no sugar. Now, looking back, I see I was a total idiot.

No sugar meant no fun cereals, no brown sugar in my oatmeal, no good granola bars, no juice, no desserts of any kind, nothing. The only sugary thing I allowed myself to eat was peanut butter, which I ate by the pound. This made me completely impossible to live with. To stop myself from punching people out of sheer frustration, I basically kept to myself and played a lot of Sims 2.

The crappiest thing about Lent every year is that most of my friends have their birthdays in that period of time. That meant I had to go to parties where everyone was drunk on cake and gummy bears while I was "enjoying" my pretzels and water. One of my friends had her birthday about four days before the end of Lent and had the best homemade cake ever (RAINBOW BITS ICING). In desperation, I begged her to pack me a piece for the end of my self-imprisonment.

Then, Easter morning came. I had actually, somehow, made it through without resorting to murder.

I woke up that morning at around 6 am and made a beeline for the kitchen. I ate that cake like I was in a hotdog eating contest. From there, I went to the cupboard and ate some fluffer nutter and nutella, which I washed down with sweet, sweet cranberry juice. In my choco-lust, I think I had also found some hidden Cadbury cream eggs and scarfed those down too. I was in heaven, I was feeling pure ecstasy, I was feeling... sick.

From the month and a half of no sugar, my body seemingly forgot how to process it. When it had to deal with about 7 pounds of the stuff all at once, it could only do one thing: prepare for attack.

But definitely not as cute.

  This is what I ended up looking like, but with a few differences:
  1. Picture it as me, with no makeup and looking green in the face
  2. I'm on the bedroom floor
  3. Rocking back and forth.
  4. Making strange high-pitch noises.
  5. for about two hours.

I can't actually remember what happened afterwards, but it was a dark, dark time of my life.

Friday, 28 October 2011

Daily Trivia with Andrew

How did Jesus die?

Andrew: Uhh... gunshot wound?
Redneck Jesus

Mother Nature is a Bitch. But I love her.

I feel like this would probably happen to Jerry the peacock while he was trying to seduce one of our chickens.


While at work, I became inspired by the Wedding Gods. I immediately emailed Andrew.

From: "Christine"
To: <Andrew>
Subject: Summary: Your girlfriend is nuts.

If ever we get married, I want a live peacock at the wedding. Which we then keep, and name Jerry.

Since we've already talked about owning chickens for their eggs, I thought Jerry would be the perfect addition to our aviary family. Hell, he could replace the rooster! That way, there would be any annoying crowing at every hour of the day (Fact: Roosters have no concept of time). Although, I don't actually know what sound a peacock makes... Plus, if there were any allegations of incestuous cheating or granny strippers, Jerry could run a talk show. This was the answer I got from Andrew.

From: "Andrew"
To: <Christine>
Are you completely off your rocker ?lol

That "lol" is being taken as a "maybe".


UPDATE: I have found their call. They sound like total pussies. Maybe I'll just hire that guy at the end of the movie instead.

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Further Proof my Partner is a Hick

Andrew wanted to share with everyone how awesome he is. In NB Hunting's bow hunting category, his pictures are the top two most viewed.  That clearly means he's like the Lady Gaga of bow hunting, meat dress included.

Warning: Obviously, animal carcasses ahead. Cause dead animals are so obviously cool. *obvious sarcasm**

Yes, I am in love with that. No, I don't know why.

Boys will be Boys

Last night, Andrew came home from helping his dad cut up a deer for the butcher (told you he was a hick) and found me watching TV.

Andrew: Whatcha watching?

Me: Pretty Woman. I've never actually seen it before.

Andrew: Really?!

Me: What, you've seen it?

Andrew: Of course! It's about a hooker. *big grin*

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

Blogspot thinks I need to get knocked up and become devout.

Ok, someone please explain to me what is going on here. So while I was sitting watching my pageviews go up (kidding! I'm pratically pageview-less overhere) I thought to myself "Well, if I want people to visit my blog, I should visit their blogs." Big Ah-Ha moment, I know. I then decide to use the handy dandy "next blog" button, which is completely random. Or so I thought. 

"Mom, why won't my hotdog cook?" "Sweetie, that's because
Daddy isn't a real man and can't build a simple fucking fire."

Blog after blog, I get taken to sites completely dedicated to people's kids. Just pictures of kids. And stories about them. Okay, I get your kids are cute and you love them. Hell, if I had kids, I would probably put their face up on a billboard.
But I'm looking for bloggers like me. People who like fat chickens and singing along to mall hallway music, choreography included. These interests can't be fully explored when you have a kid strapped to your back like a koala and another one drawing on your walls with permanent marker because "the walls looked sad so I cheered them up with some dragons!". Finally, I yelled to the computer (and Andrew on the sidelines, but he knows better than to listen to me) "What, are you saying I look pregnant??! MOVE ON!"

For some reason, that actually worked. No mo' babies. Except I now seemed stuck on Islamic sites (As-Salamu Alaykum). Seriously. Just lots of Arabic and pictures of the Kaaba. Now, yet again, I have absolutely no problems with Muslims. My minor in university was religious studies, with a concentration on Islam. I would love to be able to rock a Hijab headscarf (unfortunately, I look like a sickly Albanian boy in one). But I'm not converted. I swear I was sent to at least 7 blogs devoted to Islam. So I used the best tactic I knew: more yelling. "No more Arabic! I CAN'T READ ARABIC!"

Yet again, it totally worked. Apparently my laptop and/or is scared of me. But clearly, blogspot doesn't understand the word "diversification". Cause I was then sent to Christian sites.

And that's when I gave up. 


SOMEONE send me funny blogs please. I want to be entertained.

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Update: I am still Invisible

I just stood in an elevator for a full minute, trying to exit it. Why did it take so long? Cause another woman on my floor started to drive in her giant cart (do I work at Costco or something??), but stopped in the doorway to wait for her friend. I assumed she would eventually notice me standing in the middle of the elevator and eating my tuna sandwich. She did not. I had to say "Excuse me!" several times, until she turned around and spotted me. She seemed to be in such shock that I existed that she just said "Oh!" and stared. We maintained awkward eye contact as I attempted to maneuver around her cart. Which took forever, because she made no attempt to move it out of my way.

Maybe I should come with a siren....  

Last Night, Nobody could put me in a Corner.

Last night, I weighted myself. Since being with Andrew, I have slowly been turning into a mushier version of myself (and I don't mean emotionally. I've always been hormonal).  This fall, with the help of work's Biggest Loser Challenge, I decided to go back to my previous Drew Barrymore-esque body, vs. the Oprah thing that's kinda happening. (Ok, I'm not really looking like Oprah, I exaggerate. But that's for another post.)
I vowed to stop eating as much nacho cheese and cookies (although dark chocolate is good for the heart… and soul) and to start getting off the couch sometimes. Despite my half-ass efforts, I wasn’t looking any different. Until LAST NIGHT! I hopped up on the scale, cringed down at the screen in non-anticipation and saw that I have LOST FIVE POUNDS OMG!
So, like any normal person, I ran to Andrew to tell him the news. He was busy washing dishes and wasn’t really listening, until he noticed I had my arms up in the air screaming “I’M BABY! PICK ME UP!”. Really, at that point, he couldn’t ignore me.
Andrew: What are you talking about?!
Me: I lost weight! Now we can do the Dirty Dancing move!
Andrew:… what?!
Me: You’re Patrick Swayze! PICK ME UP!
Andrew: I can’t do that!
Me: Now I’ve had, the time of my life… *arms still raised*
Andrew: No way!
Me: … no, I’ve never felt this way before! *arms now flailing* And I swear.. ANDREW… this is truuuue PICKMEUP!
I see London, I see France... I see I never grew up.
After a few minutes of me yelling, jumping up and down and feinting that I was going to jump at him full speed, he finally got down on his knees and raised his arms. I then leaned over and pretended to do the move, albeit my feet still touching the ground. Meh, it was a compromise.

Good thing this didn’t happen in front of our big picture window.

Nighttime with an Aggressive Sleep-Talker

So, as most of my friends know, Andrew talks more in his sleep than he does all day. Being a psychology major, I like to attribute his somniloquy (it sounds like soliloquy, only Andrew is definitely not Shakespearean) to hidden childhood trauma. Also, I have a flair for the dramatic. Anyways, I’ve carried on many conversations with him in his sleep, just because it’s more interesting than sleeping and entertains the hell out of me. The converstations are always different, except for the fact that he gets mad at me in pretty much every single dream. This is the latest encounter:
 At around 2:30am, I get up and go to the bathroom and come back to bed. Lucy is squirming in her bed, but is otherwise sleeping. All of a sudden, Andrew goes “For Christ’s sake! *unintelligible* EGGKDGJCcmxn fuckin fenjkwn enj!”, I ask Andrew “What?” and he almost yells “LUCY! Go back to bed!” (as I said, Lucy is already sleeping in bed). I ask  “Andrew, are you awake?” He says “Yes!” So I say, “then what is the problem?!” and he answers “You won’t put your damn pants away!”…. So I say “… I don’t think you’re awake Andrew…” And he says “I am now…” Turns out, I was getting him really angry in his dream and he wouldn’t explain what it was about, since he was still a little angry at me.
The first night I discovered the Mr. Hyde to Andrew's Dr. Jykell really takes the cake though. I was staying over at his place, when I decided to go get a glass of water. However, I didn't even have time to sit up before I hear Andrew mumbling. Then it goes like this.
Me: What, Andrew?
Andrew: There's so many cows in here.
Me: Cows where???
Andrew: In here!
Me: What, in the room?
(At this point I'm really confused)
Andrew: NO, in here. *pats the bed*
Me: On the bed?
(Apparently, I am now an idiot, because I can't follow normal conversation)
Andrew: What?! NO, fuck off!
Then, as I am then laying in bed, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, he turns around in his sleep and spoons me. Though we had been together for awhile then, I still harboured the thought that my boyfriend might be a secret psychopath. Yet again, flair for the dramatic. I have now accepted his crazy comes out at night, and have since then been somniloquylly (yeah, I just made that up) yelled at dozens of times.
I googled "cows in bedroom" in an attempt to help
you visualise. Instead, google led me to this image.
Anyhow, you'll be hearing more of these encounters later on.
P.S. I didn’t know it was called somniloquy. WebMD told me so.
P.P.S. I need to stop going on WebMD. I’m turning into a hypochondriac.

Monday, 24 October 2011

When Creativity Loses.

While creating this blog (which was done on a complete whim), I ran through a few ideas for blog titles with my friend Michelle.
Here is what I came up with:
  • Hickey in Towntry – A Hippy/ Hick working in town & country-living (AKA the most confusing blog name ever)
  • My Life as an Ass. – Administrative Assistant for the Insane.
  • Randomosity
  • Fat Chickens.
  • I Love Peac***s (LOL)
All were rejected. Thank God.


I'm getting straight to the point here.

I am pretty much invisible at work. I've been here for about 5 months, talk to and email these people pretty much everyday, and yet I have just been called Courtney in an email.


It happened.

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