Sunday, 30 September 2012

And This is Why Hugs Never Last More than Three Seconds in our Home.

Hey guys!
I'm still recuperating from my wisdom teeth removal, so no big post today. I will be posting more as soon as my face finishes its transformation from a square to its original oval shape.
Sidenote. I have never truly appreciated my cheekbones until I watched them dissapear under a layer of puffy swelling. And drugs. I definitely appreciate drugs right now.
Andrew and the furry babies have been good company these past few days. Lucy is especially concerned about me; feeling that I'm a bit off (i.e., high on painkillers), she's been following me around everywhere.

She's a perfect dog, except for her excessive jealousy. Apparently in her mind, Andrew and I's relationship revolves completely around her; any time spent on each other is a waste of time. Whenever Lucy catches us hugging, cuddling or giving each other any amount of attention, she immediately intervenes so that everything is once again about her. Our only purpose in life is to serve her.

These pictures were taken today when Andrew tried to hang out with me on the floor.
That's right, man-bitch. You need to be put in your place.

Ahhh. Nice and comfy human pillow.

This is probably why the romance has died.

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Life Update: Coughing, Cars, & Losing Teeth. None of These are Actually Related.

Hey all'y'all!

Sorry I haven't posted as much these past two weeks. Here's why you haven't heard from me:
  • I had countless meetings and appointments to sell my old 1999 Oldsmobile Alero and buy myself a BRAND NEW 2012 Chevrolet Sonic.
Bam. So sexual.
  • I name my cars (along with my purses, and other people's cats.) My new car is named Knuckles. Before you start thinking I have a weird hand fetish, the car is named after Sonic the Hedgehog's friend/nemesis Knuckles the Echidna. Get it? Red Sonic car, red echidna friend of Sonic? I'M SO AMAZINGLY CLEVER!
Although really, how does this....

...Look anything like this?
  • I was sick as hell. The day I got my car, I decided that I was getting sick and went to bed at 8pm. I then proceeded to sleep around 100 hours during the span of a week; waking hours were spent coughing, blowing my nose, trying to get Andrew to do as much as possible for me and looking at WebMD to check if I had bronchitis, mono or pneumonia.
    • Turns out I just had a cold.
Now that I have my car and I'm feeling healthy, I still won't be blogging for the next few days because I'll be recuperating from getting four teeth ripped out.

Yes, tomorrow, I will be losing all of my wisdom (not that I'm all that wise).

I'm kinda terrified about it because I hate invasive surgery, I hate needles, and I get grossed out easily by things like hearing my own teeth break and get pulled outohGodI'mgonnadie.

Because of this, I'm getting Ativan and laughing gas. I've never taken either, but the receptionist had the same procedures and treatment as me and said it was a blast. Apparently, her appointment was filled with hallucinations of golden retrievers frolicking around the dentist chair; she was too busy petting the non-existant puppies to ever feel pain.

My mother is taking me to the appointment. She will be bringing a video camera in case I say or do anything incredibly embarrasing.

Saturday, 22 September 2012

I'm Sick and Tazz is a Psychopath.

Sorry for a lack of posts these past few days, but I've been super sick. Fortunately, I've been milking it for all its worth with Andrew. When life gives you lemons that make you nauseous, you make lemonade with electrolytes to keep you hydrated.

Anyways, here's a few photos and texts my mother sent me yesterday after she came home from work:
Mom: Guess who had fun this afternoon?
That's right. It's the one and only Tazz and what we thought
was her favourite bear.

Mom: At least its contained to the crate.
Me: She went straight to the heart.
Mom: Funeral for the bear at 6.
Me: I don't think I can make it.
Mom: Aw poor bear... I'll say a few words on your behalf.
Me: Thanks, I really appreciate it.
Mom: You are welcome to visit Tazz in jail... for premeditated murder. Forensics are coming over to investigate.
"We're sending the stuffing over to the lab to analyze it for DNA."

Wednesday, 19 September 2012

A Second Case of Mistaken Identity. Texting-style.

While finishing up my secret project (part one), I receive this text.
hey do u no jerry ryder? is he ur boyfriend
You know I can't help myself in this situation. I wrote back:
No, I don't know Jerry Ryder. Like your writing skills, you must have misspelled the phone number.
Proud of my clever (albeit bitchy) response, I showed the conversation to Andrew.
Andrew: I don't get it. What did he spell wrong? 
Me: ... I don't think we can be together anymore.
While in some ways, Andrew and I are quite similar, in many ways we are so, so different.

Monday, 17 September 2012

And then the World was Ending.

We're all here reading this, so I can report with 95% certainty that the world has not ended.

Of course, we could all be in this weird twilight zone where everyone is dead and no one knows it yet. Like Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense, except we don't get Haley Joel Osment.
Sidenote: If you thought of sparkly vampires when I said "twilight", I will cut you.
Second Sidenote: Who names their boy Haley? Is that a thing? Are there any boys called Martha out there?
Anyways, the reason for this speculating, other than for the fact that my brain tends to jump to the dramatic, is this wierd weather phenomenomenom-nom-nom.

Andrew and I were sitting in the living room with the curtains closed when he noticed the light in the room had altered. We then went outside to find the entire world completely bathed in pink. It was like wearing rose-coloured glasses, without the positive outlook on life.

Everything is fucking pink!
Maybe this was God's final message before he started the apocalypse. Maybe he was saying something along the lines of "I'm here, I'm queer, the end of times is near!" Cause maybe God is a gay cheerleader.

The sky. In case you hadn't figured it out.
So far, my speculations seem to be incorrect. Although really, heaven would be awesome if run by a gay cheerleader.

Saturday, 15 September 2012

Quick Post that Turned out to be Long. I Guess Andrew is Right and I Just Can't Shut Up.

Rhonda the Bruise Update:  Nearing the three week anniversary of one of the most stupid thing I've done, the last traces of Rhonda the Bruise are finally fading away.

Since I'm really busy working on a secret project, here's a quick post with pictures and videos from when Tazz (my parents' dog) stayed at our house.
"Yes, I would like to buy the magical
kittens. They smell like rainbows."

Sidenote: this secret project is super exciting for me. Maybe not on the same level as riding a unicorn through a field of singing flowers, but definitely as exciting as rolling around on a plush rug while high on ecstasy and surrounded by kittens. I've never done E, but I assume that being high in that particular setting would be pretty damn wondrous.
Here are the cats once Tazz was locked in our living room. What once was their safe haven became their island of misery. After this picture was taken, Sako hid. We spotted her twice during Tazz' 6-day stay.

Sako: Oh God, what is that? I'm never leaving this perch again.
Tika: Can we eat it?
Tazz was mostly barricated in our living room because she tends to get bored (i.e. astoundingly destructive) very easily. If she was left to roam free, she probably would have eaten kitty litter and found a bunch of my thongs to chew, among other things. (Seriously, she must be a lesbian, because she's a major fan of thongs.)

She also demands constant acknowledgement; if you're not petting her or playing with her, you must be her cushion to sleep on or her brace to hold her bone while she chews it. With the neverending attention-seeking, it's like babysitting Miley Cyrus.

Luckily, Andrew and I were able to take a break when she played with Lucy. And by play, I mean be a total bitch. You would think that being a sixth of Lucy's weight would make her hesitate. Nope. Tazz goes after her like its a UFC match and the winner gets an entire graveyard of bones to chew.

Ok, so maybe by "running out of steam", I actually meant
"drugged them with cough syrup."
Notice how Lucy's strategy is to use her size to her advantage; her only moves are swinging her head around like a territorial giraffe and pinning Tazz down with her neck. Tazz, on the other hand, likes to bite at any wobbly bits, such as Lucy's ears and lips. Thank God Lucy is not a "Luke", or there would more sensitive wobbly bits for Tazz to target. Finally, on the last night we had her, both Tazz and Lucy ran out of steam.
Although it could be completely draining, I loved having her stay with us. Which means I need a second dog. Obviously.

Monday, 10 September 2012

Because Saying "Goddamn Baby" Would be Blasphemous.

While exiting Boston Pizza's with my parents, we heard a car honking like the apocalypse was coming and could only be prevented by noise pollution. We turned to see a car casually cutting off a minivan at only 50 km/h. The woman in the minivan kept laying on the horn nonstop. When the cars got nearer to us, we saw the driver stick her head out of the window and yell "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! I HAVE A FUCKING BABY IN THE CAR, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!". Because when you have a fucking baby in the car, it's safest to stick your head out of the window and rage.

So much for being polite Canadians.

Sunday, 9 September 2012

Texting with Andrew: Infidelity Edition

After I had texted Andrew to let him know that I was doing some hot yoga after work on Friday, this conversation happened. (Note: I will be adding punctuation to Andrew's texts to make them understandable to the average human being.)

Me: Do you have any plans tonight?
Andrew: I'm going to go see the mistress.
Me: I heard she stopped taking her birth control pills, so make sure to bring rubbers.
Andrew: Oh wow. She never told me. She must be trying to trap me.
Me: That's how they get you - nine months later and BAM: 18 years of child support.
Andrew: Haha. That's hard to hide from you too. 
Me: You'd give it away so fast. I'd wake up to take the dog out and you'd be like "What, does the baby need changing?" 
Andrew: Haha yeah, in my sleep.
Me: And then: death by pillow.
Andrew: You wouldn't kill me... lol 
Me: If you had a secret love child, I just might.  
Andrew: lol. Ok, I'll try not to have one. Have fun at yoga.
Me: Thanks! Have fun with the whore.  
Andrew: I always do.
And then after class.
Me: Leaving class now. Put the whore away.
Andrew: Ok, she's gone.  
Me: Good. I don't want to see her Herpes face. 
Andrew: No, you don't. It's scary!
Me: You'd think you would go after prettier sluts. Standards, Andrew, standards!
Andrew: Yeah, well I don't. I have the prettiest one now. :) 
Me: Awwwwwww!
Andrew simply responded with this emoticon:
And conversations like these are why we tend to avoid going out in public.
P.S. In case you didn't get that Andrew has an unfaithful sense of humor, no, he doesn't actually have a mistress. Well, I guess his best friend Jason can count as his mistress. His totally not gay and very manly mistress. 

Friday, 7 September 2012

Canadian Feature Friday - Where we Won't Cut off your Arms. Cause we're Nice People.

TGIF everyone! Today is a quickie; I'm giving you three facts about Canada.

At a Tim Hortons in Kandahar, Afganistan. Only a rocket
in a war zone will stop a Canadian from getting his coffee.
1. There are more donut shops per capita in Canada than any other country. Which is no surprise, because we are obsessed with coffee and donuts. Especially from Tim Hortons. It is beyond fucking absurd. My city's population is over 56,000 and we have 10 Tim hortons, while Toronto has almost 170 just within their city limits.

170, people!

Like Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that's just ridiculous. And the coffee isn't even good! Rumours are that they put crack in it to make you dependent... Ok, I may have made that rumour up.

2. We are so polite, it's ridiculous. I'm not sure if this applies to the entire nation, but it sure as hell is true in Eastern Canada. Examples of extreme politeness:
  • Where I live, you only hear a car horn once every couple of weeks. And it's usually someone honking to get the attention of a friend so that they can wave at each other.
  • We like to smile at strangers.
    • A smile is not an indication that you are about to be sexually assaulted.
  • Your door always gets held for you by others in front of you.
  • People constantly apoligize to others. I've run into a bench and apologized to the bench.

3. We're the third largest producer of diamonds in the world. Unlike other countries, we won't cut off your arm if you don't complete your daily quota.

Cause that shit is just rude.

Monday, 3 September 2012

I Thought we Had at Least One Normal Family Member - I was Wrong.

With one cat that drools and another that most likely has bipolar disorder, the hick who loves musicals and myself, I mistakenly thought Lucy held the title of "Most Well Adjusted Household Member."
Then she started doing this.
Here is a video of Lucy sounding like the offspring of a bear and methdog.


Saturday, 1 September 2012

Why I Regretted Ever Attempting to Get in Shape.

I, Christine, am out of shape.

In the past couple of years, I've slowly metamorphed into a hippo; a non-vegetarian, unagressive (unless country music comes on), unable to swim hippo. Although I think hippos are cute, I do not enjoy being one.

Also, hippos splatter their shit everywhere. It's nasty. True story.

So my newly-engaged friend Swizzy and my not-engaged self decided to join some sort of fitness class. We ended up deciding to take hot yoga classes. Because hey, we love slow excercises and we like the heat. So we could sweat without having to work hard. Cause we're lazy like that.

Because someone with a ring was running late, we had to switch from the 5pm class to the 6:30 class. The yoga teacher had instructedus not to eat anything for the couple of hours leading up tto the class. But I was like "Fuck that shit, I'm eating a cookie", and since we were now on a health kick, I decided to balance out the cookie by drinking a whole bottle of vitamin water. 

Bruise - Day 5. I've named her Ronda.
Once 6:30 rolled up, we headed back to the yoga studio. Because we were told to dress lightly, I wore 3/4 yoga pants, which flauntingly showed off my giant bruise. Not wanting to have to explain how I got injured, I made Swizzy walk behind me at all times to keep the back of my legs out of view of others.
We then entered the yoga hot room. As soon as I saw that the door looked like those used to enter saunas, I became worried. As I opened the door, a wave of heat hit me. Now, I was just going to say that the room was holy-fuck-am-I-in-Hell hot, but further research (i.e, Wikipedia) states that the temperature was most likely around  40.6°C (105°F) with a humidity level of 40%. Wikipedia says potato, I say kill me now.
We laid out our rented mats next to a ex-coworker of Swizzy's, who asked us how long we had been doing hot yoga. After replying that this was our first time, she looked at us with a mixture of bafflement and pity.
Coworker: You know this is the hardest yoga teacher, right?
Swizzy: Uh, no.  
Coworker: And that this is the 75 minute session?
Me:  Seventy-five minutes?! I'm not gonna last that long without having to pee.
Coworker: Well, I hope you won't, because no one is allowed to leave the room until the session is over. It disrupts others' focus.
And before it could truly sink in that I would have to master my bladder for over an hour (no easy feat for me), the instructor entered the room. At that moment, I had a slight panic attack. What if I pass out? What if I feel like throwing up? What if she actually locks the door so no one can get out? And then what if there's a fire and we all try to get out but the instructor is so hardcore that she's all "work through the pain and find your centre"? Oh God, Death by Yoga.

At this point, I looked at Swizzy like "I'm pretty sure
I saw this in a porno once."
And then we had to make our breathing sound like the ocean and we started doing doing some poses. Some were more well-known poses, such as the warrior pose and the downward dog, some not as well known to the average person like the pigeon pose and the happy baby pose. Within the first 10 minutes, I was completely drenched. It was beyond disgusting.
The worst part, other than the heat from the 20 million infrared lamps, the pain and the sweating, was that there was no clocks in the room. As I have no ability to estimate time, at any point in time I had no idea whether we were 15 minutes in or almost done. I would have cried if I had any water left inside my body.

 As I was starting to really get into it (at around 30 minutes in, but I really have no idea), I realized - I have to pee right now! I was guessing the session was far from over, so I decided to try my best to wait until the end. Unfortunately, this took away from my experience because everytime the instructor advised us to "relax all your muscles and feel the tension in them slipping away", I wanted to shout out "lady, if I relax certain muscles right now, you're going to have to deal with a studio full of hot piss. IT WON'T BE PRETTY!" I believe it was at that point that I thought that I had made a terrible mistake in joining a hot yoga class.

Surprisingly, miraculously, I made it through the entire 75 minutes without any incontinence or loss of consciousness. And although I was revoltingly sweaty and exhausted, I felt like a superhero. I strutted down the street in my soggy yoga pants and tank top like I had just climbed Mount Fucking Everest. I was the Stephen Hawkins of yoga. I KICKED HOT YOGA'S NAMASTE-FILLED ASS!

So in honour of my great acheivement, I went home, took a shower and passed out.

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