Surprise, I'm still invisible!

Hey all! Let's pretend I haven't been gone for a couple of years. 

Ok?

Ok.

Remember when I was repeatedly called Courtney back my co-workers a few years ago? (See here, here and here.) Wasn't that funny? 

Guess what happened when I opened up an email from my insurance agent this morning?

If you didn't guess that it happened again, you might want to
download the Luminosity app and work on your brain power.
I basically spoon fed the answer to you.

Either I've got an evil twin or doppelgänger that enjoys confusing people and eliciting exasperation from me, or my self-importance got too high and life decided to knock me down a few pegs. Again. I'm going to turn into a small blond girl and go find myself my own Aibileen Clark now.

Minus the racial inequality and civil rights issues. 

Love,

Courtney

Life Update #2: Moving On Up (but Not to the East Side)

OMG HI, I'M STILL ALIVE,  I'VE JUST BEEN RIDICULOUSLY BUSY! WHY?

BECAUSE WE BOUGHT A HOUSE THIS SUMMER!

TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Yep, we are now the proud owners of a home that not only has a foundation, but also has a basement. (Woah, we're living big!) Not being able to ever truly part from Andrew's parents (who lived one kilometer away from our minihome), we just moved further down the same road. Past the point where the road stops being paved.

That's right, we've increased our Hickness by living on a shitty dirt road. Though there are plenty of reasons that sucks, I like to look for the rainbow that follows the rain. I'm fucking optimistic y'all.

Pro: Way more windows to let sunlight in.

Con: Lord knows how the hell my little car Knuckles is going to drive in the middle of a blizzard on an unplowed dirt road.

Pro: If ever I take Ecstasy, I can trip out naked in the backyard without worrying about people seing me talk to the flowers. Although I'm pretty sure that if I was on Ecstasy, I wouldn't give a crap.  

Con: I shouldn't be encouraged to take Ecstasy. I'm crazy enough as it is.

Pro: Increased chance of surviving the zombie apocalypse due to isolation.

Meet Clements, our new Palm Tree
and Liberace, the gold deer.

Con: This isolation also means that there would be no one around to save me if I was being attacked by a serial killer. Or a clown.

Pro: Our new place has an orchard with 5 apple trees. 

Con: Because of these lovely apple-buffets, we get visited more often by skunks and racoons. And as much as I feel like a Disney Princess, Andrew keeps stressing that if approached and sung to, they will attack.

Pro: Since we're surrounded by woods, Andrew is constantly out scouting and hunting. Which means he can't always be around when I try to sing to the woodland creatures. There's still a possibility of communicating with them.

So while I'm waiting for wildlife to appear in my front yard, I'm painting and unpacking boxes and getting our house ready for a House-warming Party I'm pretty sure is never going to happen cause the house is never going to be fully unpacked. But I'm really trying to fit in time to blog, I swear!

P.S. The previous owners of the house were absolutely nuts (think paranoid and immature with their use of permanent marker in our home) so I will have a few stories relating to when we first moved in.

Major Life Update: Powerpoints ARE Effective.

Remember when I sat Andrew down and gave him a full powerpoint presentation describing how two dogs are better than one? And once completed, he was like "God, they need to give you more work at the office to keep you busy." And I was like "THAT WASN'T THE POINT OF THE PRESENTATION ANDREW!" and he was all "I get it. You really want another dog. I want one too." And I was like "REALLY?!?! WE CAN GET ONE?!?!" And he said "Yes. ...But not now. In a few years maybe." And then I stomped my foot and accused him of ruining my 5-year plan?

Remember that?

WELL GUESS WHO ADOPTED A NEW FUR BABY THIS SUMMER?????

HOLY SHIT HOW CUTE IS THIS LITTLE GIRL?!

Look at that face.

Just look at it.

Her name is Sky and she's now 6 months old. She's from the Carribean island of Anguilla, which means that she's frolicked on nicer beaches than I ever have. She was rescued by Rosie, a New-Brunswicker studying on the island who saw all the stray and neglected dogs and decided to make a difference for as many pups as she can.

Sky at the Anguilla Shelter

She then started the Fly-a-Pup program, where people visiting Anguilla bring puppies back North America with them as luggage to be adopted here. Which is how little Sky, the runt of her litter, came into our lives.  

It was fate. Magical canine fate.

When Andrew finally aggreed that we could get a second dog, I quickly discovered that Andrew was only interested in pups that looked like Lucy. I think he beleived that if Lucy = good, therefore Dog-that-looks-like-Lucy = good too.

We had also decided that our next dog would be called Sky, keeping with our Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds theme.



So when Fly-a-Pup posted a picture of this little girl, a Lucy-lookalike and already named Sky, and said that she would be flying to New Brunswick at the end of April, I pretty much exploded in awe of how fucking serendipitous this was.



I met her at our local shelter, applied to adopt her the same day, had Lucy (and Andrew) meet her the next day to see that they were compatible and took her home. Although Andrew was taken aback that we were bringing her home so fast, he fell in love with that little face before he could say no.



It's ok, you can cry at the beauty that is Sky.

Of course, because she's part of our family, she's obviously crazy/weird, so rest assured there will be Sky-related pictures and videos on this blog in the future. 

P.S. When I joked that we needed to finish Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds with a third dog called Diamond, he gave me a look that suggested "Don't push your Luck"/murder. I then told him that we could skip the dog, and he could just buy me a diamond ring instead.  Bam. We both win.

P.P.S. If you're interested in donating money to Fly-a-Pup or want your own little Anguillan pup, you can reach Rosie on Facebook or Twitter @PupFly.

I Work with Crazy People. And I Feel Totally at Home.

If I had a pet giraffe, I would name it Gustave. It would probably
be allergic to leaves. Or have multiple personalities.

I guess I never mentioned it, but I got promoted back in October. ...Oops. I'd like to say I didn't mention it because the promotion came with a huge raise and I've been busy traveling the world in my private jet and taking care of my pet giraffe. But I would be lying in your face...screen. I just have a horrible memory and forgot about this post. Sometimes I'm amazed I remember to feed myself.
But seriously, I want a pet giraffe. Someone make that happen for me.

Anyways, instead of being a Administrative Assistant, I'm now a Coordinator. I work for a company that does environmental assessments (we check proposed business and building projects to see if they'll negatively affect the environment), and my job is to make sure the projects and responses are all correctly catalogued and kept up to date.

I'm just a fancier secretary.

Next to my fancy-secretary desk, there is a whiteboard with the the status of every employee (in office, out sick, at a meeting, etc). This would usually be a pretty ordinary aspect of work, except for the fact that ours includes a completely fictional, nonexistant person.

We have Jack Longquest.


"Jack" appeared on our status board back in November, but is always out of the office due to some excuse or another. Having never met Jack, I like to think that he looks like Indiana Jones - College Professor Edition. He enjoys canoeing and has an unfortunate propensity to pose like a superhero when talking to you. He's a lifelong bachelor, makes his own beer and hates the sound of crinkling aluminium paper.

Look Ma, I'm number one!

As weird as it might be that I've completely made up a history and description for him, please remember that I'm not the one who created an imaginary coworker. Not only does he remain on the status board after 10 months, his status still receives regular updates. Reasons why Jack isn't in the office include:

• Acupuncture Appointment
• Origami Class
• Abducted by Aliens
• In the Bermuda Triangle
• Disney Movie Marathon
• At a Sweat Lodge

My coworkers who update the status board also send emails on Jack's behalf:

FYI, Jack Longquest will be out all day today.  He is attending a conference in Moncton.

And regularly mention Jack in their day to day conversations:

"Did you see that Jack is coming back on the twelfth? It's gonna be exciting to see him again!"

I like working here.

A POST! A POST!

Hello World!

The Gods of Creative Humor Writing are still being jerks, wagging their fingers at me, being all like "Nuh uh girlfriend, you are NOT publishing a post! You need to focus on eating Nutella straight out of the jar and taking a ridiculous amount of instagram photos of your pets".

But now I'm all "I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU ANYMORE! I'VE BEEN GIVEN A MAGICAL SPEAR OF CREATIVITY BY THE UNICORN KING OF SOCIAL MEDIA. STOP ME NOW, BITCHES!"

That's right, I'm fighting back, mothafuckas. 

Yep, looks about right.

Now that I'm back on the blogging wagon, I have some MAJOR catching up to do. Since my last post, I've had a few major changes happen in my life. (Spoiler: these changes do not include an engagement.) And rather than blurt it all out now, I think I'll divulge the updates one post at a time.

Suspense, y'all. I like to keep you coming back for more.

In the meantime, here's a mini post proving that not only is Andrew the Hick still around, he's mastered the art of dad jokes and improv.

Andrew's shirt says "I love animals... they're delicious."
Also, the ghost wearing black behind Andrew is actually me.

A few nights ago, Andrew had the glorious idea to have a cup of coffee an hour before bedtime. Giving a cup of coffee to a man with ADHD like Andrew is like giving a cup of coffee to a 5-year-old with ADHD.

The result of this combination was both of us laying in bed, him spouting off non-stop horrible jokes and me trying desperately to drown them out. What's worse, when he ran out of horrible jokes, he started to invent ones. This one was the cream of the crop:

 - What did the turtle say when he went into the sea urchin?

"Damn, you spiked...DA PUNCH!"

Seriously. That was the punch line.

So hopefully the fight against evil procrastination and writer's block continues, and another post will be up soon.

Canadian Feature Friday: Making Canadian Crack - Maple Syrup Season

When writing a blog, you should only ever write about the shit you know. For instance, I can somewhat knowledgably write about hypochondria, dealing with a hick boyfriend and living with a dog that destroys everything when left alone. However, I can't write about the German language, platypuses or the pluralizing of strange words.

As of this season, I can now confidently write about harvesting maple sap and creating syrup, because of the combined facts that: 1) Andrew is continuing his family's Canadian Hick legacy by helping out at his dad's sugar camp, and 2) he now realizes that I can be put to work.

And so since this is all that is currently happening in my life, this is what you bitches get to read about.

Sidenote: I'm like the kid that pulls your ponytail because I like you. Bitches is purely a term of endearment.



For step 4, I highly recommend wasting time by playing with dogs. It makes
you feel like your heart is made of joy and marshmellows.

And so, in case you think that you can start your own maple syrup collection, here is a non-scientifically-written step-by-step.

1. Make sure you live somewhere where the temperature goes below freezing at night and above freezing in the daytime. Sap only runs in these conditions because it is a total diva.

• If you don't have those conditions, move to Canada.

2. Find a shitload of maple trees.

3. Drill a hole into the tree, insert spile and hang bucket underneath it.

 4. Wait a while.

5. Everyday, drag your ass to those trees and dump all of the sap into a manmade tank attached to a four-wheeler with tank tracks instead of wheels - cause you're a badass.

• Be prepared for aching muscles and an emergence of whiny complaints.

6.  Bring the sap tank to the camp, put sap through filters to get rid of nature (bits of bark, confused bugs, etc.)

7. Put sap in boiler and boil the fuck out of it.

Sidenote: It's actually a lot more complicated than just simply
boiling - it has to go through more filters and boil at a certain
temperature to be ready, etc. (I won't go too far into it, cause
it's boring and you don't care)

Extra step added by Andrew: Bring case of beer. Drink it all.

9. Put it in a fancy glass bottle. Or just a in can you found on the side of the road. Don't sell the dirty can. You will probably get sued.

10. Make pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and spread syrup over them like it's the only thing that keeps your heart pumping.

Lucy has no reason to be included in this post
other than the fact that she's gorgeous.

Bam! You're now a Canadian. You're welcome for the access to stronger beer.

The Gods of Creative Humor Writing have Gone on Vacation.

Probably to Hawaii, or somewhere else where women dance around in grass skirts - I feel like the Writing Gods are probably perverts.

Anyways, they've been total jerks and left me behind, so I've had to deal with a major case of writer's block.

Hopefully they come back soon, but in the meantime, I'm just letting you all know that I'm doing great. In my case, lack of writing does not equal a mental breakdown, sudden drug addiction or secret Russian Mafia kidnapping.

Andrew and I have been busy helping out his dad to make maple syrup. Since that's the only interesting thing going on in my life right now, I'll try to post some pictures of the process. I'm thinking that because not everyone is Canadian, or hick, some of you might have absolutely no idea what entails in making the magical syrup. IT'S MAGIC Y'ALL!

HOLY SHIT, MAPLE SYRUP PHOTOS WILL BE TOMORROW'S CANADIAN FEATURE FRIDAY! (My genius astounds me.)

Okay, no more caps.

I'M TOTALLY KIDDING! THE CAPS NEVER END!

Where do you Bring a Hick for his Birthday?

There's an excellent punchline to that question, I just know it...

 

The actual answer is Montana's Cookhouse.

 

 

For all you non-Canadians (aka, 90% of you readers), Montana's is a mountain lodge-themed restaurant. Half of the menu is solely dedicated to red meat, and the "mascots" are a taxidermied moose and deer. They also serve "man mugs", which hold three cans' worth of beer in them.

 

You get to have a dead animal stare at you while you eat. In Andrew's words,
"it's just awesome/"

Yeah, you can see why he asked to celebrate there.

 

We began the night wearing paper antlers (the hick version of paper crowns). However, as soon as Andrew saw me wearing a full rack of antlers, he ripped it off my head in disgust, shouted " a doe doesn't have antlers!" and tore off the top of my antlers. He then gingerly placed the modified hick-crown back on my head and continued on as if nothing happened.



Apparently this is a deer mating ritual.... I'm flattered, I guess?

After eating a main course primaily composed of animal parts (which cost more than my appetizer, main course and dessert combined), the staff sang him a song, gave him a complimentary dessert and placed this on his head.

Behold, Andrew the Steak Sauce Stealer, the cheapest Viking in the land!

However, once he found out that there was another headgear option that better suited his fashion sense, he had his helmet replaced by this one:

Yes, because when being asked to pose while sporting a moose rack, it is
best to look pensive. A+ for that rationale, Andrew.

He spent the rest of the night proudly sporting the ginormous moose rack, whilst I attempted to finish my dessert without getting knocked unconscious every time he swiveled his head.

I actually had to duck under to be anywhere near him.

Happy Birthday Andrew!

 

 I'm sorry I didn't let you attempt to steal the moose rack helmet. (I'm not genuinely sorry. That was a stupid idea. How the hell would you have pulled it off?)

From our Non-Legally-Acknowldged-Family-with-Furry-Babies to Yours!!

Merry Hickmas!

 

The caption, plaid and cowboy hat were the only way Andrew was ever gonna let
this happen.

I Guess I Should Acknowledge That the Holiday Season is Here...



This weekend, we're attempting to take a family portrait for our annual Christmas Card. We'll either look like gorgeous models, or total trainwrecks. (We never half-ass anything, we go all the way. Except for cleaning attempts: cleaning house is always done half-ass.)

 

Anyways, I just finished decorating my giant-sized wreath (which I love), but now I'm like "Where the fuck am I going to put this ginormous wreath?" So until I find a way to hang the wreath on the side of the house without making holes in the walls, I have to hide the wreath in Andrew's Man-cave. It's got to be put away because the cats seem to have a death wish involving eating as many glitter-covered pine cones and fake holly berries (not to be confused with fake Halle Barrys) as possible. They wouldn't last a day in the wild.

 

Because they're made of plastic, and you'll die.

Sidenote: Sorry there hasn't been any posts this past week. It's like the ridiculously small amount of daylight hours has made me all blah and meh. But I think I'm over that now.

It's my Motherf***ing Birthday, Motherf***ers!

Every year, I get overly excited about my birthday, even though nothing tends to happen.

 

BUT WHO CARES IF NOTHING HAPPENS, ITS MY BIRHTDAY BITCHES!

It's the ridiculously amazing cleavage, isn't it?

I'd write more, but I can't. I'm too busy doing whatever the fuck I want to do. Like sleeping in, singing Disney songs to my pets and crashing a bachelorette party.

 

Talk to you soon, because I'm sure I'll have some stories to share after tonight.

 

Have an awesome Friday!

We Interrupt this Relationship for Hunting Season

This week marked the beginning of Hunting Season, also known as Sorry Babe, but you'll only see me after 9pm and on your Birthday Season.

It's like that European fairy tale where the Prince can only visit the Princess after dark or he'll become the Witch's slave. Except that the prince is replaced by a hick, the princess is on codeine pills and has a swollen jaw, and the penalty for daytime contact is a missed opportunity to kill something cute and furry.

So it's actually not like a fairy tale at all.

My bad.

On a slightly related note, here's a picture of the T-shirt Andrew's grandparents gave him when we first bought our house. It's obviously Andrew's favourite shirt.

Yes, Andrew's legs are that white.

There's only like a 3% chance that his Nanny and Grampy knew that the T-shirt was actually referring to this.

 

Ahhhh, the 90's.

Raise your hand if you can still remember all of the lyrics to the song.

 

Or better yet,

 turn around, stick it out. Even White Boys got to shout.

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.