20 Ways to Know if You Live in a Hick Household (I Thought I was Pretty Good at Keeping an Un-Hick Home. I was Wrong.)

Holy shit, I've been gone for a year! Okay, not really, but it feels like forever since I've written a post. I'd give you all a good excuse, but the truth is that the only reason I haven't written is because I didn't feel like it. Well, that, and the fact that life's been boring as hell.

Anyways, to make up for my longer-than-usual absense, here is a longer-than-usual post. With lots of pictures for people who don't like words. Although if you don't like words, I have no idea why you come to my blog. Weirdo.

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While looking for hick sterotypes, I came across this list. Though it was posted in a chat room (and so is about as credible as my knowledge of llama mating practices), I decided to see how many of these items applied to our household.

I then found out how far I've fallen down the rabbit hunting hole.

Disclaimer: We do not hunt rabbits. Except for Lucy. She's a bitch.

Without further ado, here is the list, and how we score on it.

1. "Couch that folds out into a bed. Common among whiteys in general, but in hick homes it's a staple thing..."
• Okay, if this person used the term whitey, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that they're a non-whitey. And because I've never seen, let alone heard of an African, Hispanic, Asian, Middle-Eastern or Native hick, I'm also gonna assume that this person is an outsider looking in at hicks, and can therefore give a fairly accurate portrayal of what non-hicks consider to be hick-ish.
• That being said, we don't have a futon. 
• A "Normal" household: 1, A Hick Household: 0.
• Sidenote: When we stay over at my parents' house, we have two options: the spare bedroom upstairs, which contains our old double bed and furniture, and my grand-mother's old pull-out couch from the 70's in the basement's entertainment room. Guess which one Andrew picks, every single time? Yeah, that's right: the damn 40+ year old pull-out couch.
• Sidesidenote: We've called dibs on Andrew's parent's old futon.
2. "axe"
• We don't have an axe either! Well, technically we don't have an axe because Andrew's dad has a mechanical woodsplitter..
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 0.
3. "rifle - .306 (thirty-aught-six) for deer hunting, unless you hunt with shotgun slugs...but ****, you should really have both for the full hick experience."
• Fuck. While Andrew doesn't have a .306, he does have a rifle and seven shotguns. Yes, I'm completely serious
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 1
• On a related note, you are welcome to join us in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Providing you have beneficial skills and resources. Like medical knowledge. Or a herd of alpacas.
• Yes, we have a zombie apocalypse plan. It never hurts to be prepared.
• Shut up.
4. "pick up truck - american-made, of course...jeeps are semi-respectable too, but not nearly as much as a pick-up."



Picture from a mudding expedition. Cause, obviously.

• Double fuck.
• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 2
5. "every type of essential camping and fishing item known to man."



Camo. On our anniversary.

• Normal: 1.5 Hick: 3
• On our first anniversary, I bought Andrew a camping grill. His response was "Wow, thanks! ...So, was I supposed to get you something too?"
• Every anniversary since then, we've celebrated by having a picnic in the back of Andrew's pick-up truck, camping grill included.
6. "barbed-wire fence marking the exact boundaries of your property line"
• A barbed-wire fence shall only appear in the event of a zombie apocalypse.
• Normal: 2.5 Hick: 3
7. "chaw/chew... and - with real old hicks - a spitoon."
• Oh God. If a spitoon ever appeared, I would leave him in 2 seconds flat.
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 3
8. "at least one mounted taxidermy piece - preferably a deer with 8+ point antler configuration"
• Okay, so here's the thing. Before we ever moved in together, I tricked Andrew into promising to never bring any sort of stuffed animal into our future households. I have never regretted that bit of trickery.
• That being said, we do have antlers hanging on the wall in Andrew's man-cave. There's just no bone or fur attached to it.
• ....And there's going to be a coyote pelt hanging in our shed (aka, man-cave number 2).
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 4
9. "septic tank"
• What the hell does that have to do with being a hick? That just means we live outside of town.
• Normal: 3.5 Hick: 5
10. "gas generator"
• We're saving up for one. So I'm gonna count it as one point for normalcy.
• Normal: 4.5 Hick: 5
11. "wood-panelling in every inch of your home"
• Ha!
• Normal: 5.5 Hick: 5
12. "mangy pet, usually a dog - hicks tend to drown their cats"



Our "mangy" dog. Fuck you, list-maker. She' a superstar.

• And most hicks that I know don't drown their cats, thank you very much!
• Normal: 5.5 Hick: 6
13. "smoker for fish and deer jerky"
• We don't have one. Unfortunatey, that's the type of item that will be on our wedding registry when Andrew finally puts a ring on it.
• Normal: 6.5 Hick: 6
14. "stilt-house/single-level house...but no subterranean, dug-in basement other than a coal den...and often just a trailer-home"



Well, this is getting kind of awkward...

• Normal: 6.5 Hick: 7
15. "clothes-line"
• Got that.
• Normal: 6.5 Hickness: 8
16. "road-side mailbox"
• Nope. There's so few people in our area that no one bothers to come out here to bring flyers.
• Except for the Jehovah Witnesses. You guys are determined as hell to spread the word.
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 8
17. "way out of tune, piece of **** spinet piano"
• This one is definitely my fault. I've always wanted a real piano, so when my childhood friend was selling his and asked if I wanted to buy it, I was all "FUCK YEAH I WANT A FUCKING PIANO!"
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 9
18. "beer-can collection"
• This one is definitely not my fault .
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 10
19. "dirtbike"
• Andrew sold his sporty four-wheeler (which is just a dirtbike with two extra wheels, cause MORE WHEELS IS SO MUCH COOLER) after he impressed me enough that I slept with him.
• So since he sold it, I'm not gonna count it. Because I'm already losing hard enough as it is.
• Normal: 7.5 Hickness: 11
20. "1/2 mesh baseball cap"
• I don't let Andrew wear those anymore. However, that doesn't mean he has million of them.
• Honestly, he has two bags full of hats in our closet, plus a bag left at his parents, plus a bunch in our mud room, plus these "favourite" hats that he leaves on the top of the couch.

The favourites.

Total Score:

Normal: 7.5

Hickness: 12

I might as well start learning to play the banjo and include camo in my attire. 

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.

What's Been Going on in the Hick/Crazy Household this Fall.

While picking my nicest pictures of the season, I now realize how much of a crazy cat/dog lady I am. There's an entire world out there, but I apparently would rather take pictures of the same three subjects over and over and over again.

Sidenote: This is why I should never take drugs. Well, non-prescribed drugs.

Sidenote sidenote: I don't not take drugs because I take too many pictures of my pets. It's because I think I have such an addictive personality that if I did do illegal drugs, even once, I would probably automatically get addicted to it and become a paranoid crackhead living under a bridge that would yell out warnings to passing cars about the inevitable apocalypse brought on by dragons.

Sidenote³: And also because of the pets. They shouldn't have to live with an addicted mother. They'll have self-esteem and trust issues.

 Annnnnnnd tangent is done. For this post at least. Here are some photos of the season:

Can you guess what Lucy was for Halloween?
Can you guess that I enjoy photobombing?

I told Andrew that the wings were much too small for Lucy to be able to fly. He couldn't argue. Or maybe he's just given up arguing with me because it's futile.

Tika cleaning herself while half of her face is drenched, once again, for NO REASON WHATSOEVER.



The boxer dogs of my not-technically-father-in-law-because-someone-won't-put-a-ring-on-it, plus Lucy.

Cocaine?

 

She's like the Megan Fox of dogs, but with talent!

I don't have any final poignant or clever closing statement, so I'll just let you all know that Andrew, who was quietly playing Angry Birds, just called out "cornucopia!" for no reason whatsoever. I swear he doesn't have Turette's.

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.

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.

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.

 

 

HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS! (Canine Related)

OH MY DOG!

You know how I've been nagging Andrew to get a second dog (to the point that I gave him a PowerPoint presentation) ?

IT MIGHT HAVE ACTUALLY WORKED!

After dogsitting the Devil, Andrew has mentioned getting a second dog twice. Twice, people.

Everyother day, I email Andrew a dozen ads for puppies and dogs for adoption. Okay, so more like 3-4 ads.  I tend to exagerate, ok?

But last night, we were sitting in the living room when Andrew called for my attention. He was showing me his computer screen, which was displaying this:

It's okay to squeal. I squealed too.

Me: Andrew, don't be such a dick.

Andrew: What? 

Me: Don't be all "Oh, look at the puppies THAT YOU'LL NEVER HAVE!"

Andrew: ... I never said we wouldn't have any...

Me: WE CAN HAVE A PUPPY????

Then I'm pretty sure I danced.

And today, Andrew asked me to go out with him, but I told him I would have to stay at home with Lucy since it was dark outside. Because Lucy is genuinely afraid of being in the dark alone. Its kinda cute but mostly pathetic.
Then Andrew said "Maybe she wouldn't be so scared of the dark if she had a friend to stay home with her."

I thought for a second that he might mean hiring a dog prostitute to keep Lucy company. But then I thought that dog hookers must be pretty rare and therefore expensive, so Andrew probably meant something else.

Me: ARE WE GETTING ANOTHER DOG? 

Andrew: Maybe. Soon. Maybe.

Andrew says he didn't say soon, but I'm pretty sure he did. Because I have a better memory. And I also want to believe that he said soon.

PUPPY PUPPY PUPPY!

There's Gotta be an Idiots Anonymous Group that I can Join.

Hi. My name is Christine and I am an idiot.

(Hi Christine.)

It's been 12 hours since I've done something stupid.


Don't be fooled by her cuteness. She will eat your dangly bits for lunch.

(*Awkward silence, followed by a slow clap*)

It all started when I agreed to watch my parent's dog for five days. Her name is Tazz, short for Tasmanian Devil; like the character she was named after, she will eat through anything and leave a trail of destruction everywhere she goes. Things I have found in her mouth this week: leaves, a roll of electrical tape, a used Q-tip, kleenex, receipts, cat toys and one of Andrew's winter glove. She also constantly had to be tied up when put outside, because otherwise she'd just fuck off and run away to do whatever she felt like doing. There's a lot of personality packed into that 10 pound ball of fur. 

It wasn't until the last day of dogsitting that I had my great idea: since Tazz doesn't have very far to run when tied to a post, I thought it would be great if I would tie the rope between the two dogs (since Lucy doesn't run away). And I thought it would be genius if I got them to run by having them chase me.

Do you see what's coming?

After sprinting, I stopped and watched them run by me. I also watched the nylon rope stretched between them get closer and closer to my legs. And then I saw a beautiful blue sky.

Because I was laying flat on my back on my front lawn.

Because I set myself up to get clotheslined by a 60 and 10 lbs dog.

Although it didn't actually hurt at the time, after 24 hours I ended up with this giant bitch of a bruise:

Apologies for the shitty photo quality, but my camera is dead
and I'm too lazy to find more batteries, so I took the photo
with my cell. Also, it's fucking hard to take a picture of the
 back of your own leg.



 

I am now forced to wear leggings under all of my dresses or people will think that Andrew goes after me with a baseball bat when I burn his supper.

 

HA! Like I would ever cook.



An Exciting Night Filled with Chaos and Fire

Last night was quite special. I don't know if something got dumped in the water or if it was a full moon or something but weird shit went on in Dreamland.

Firstly, I dreamt my cat Tika had superpowers (awesome) and that Andrew proposed (actually not a good thing; the dreamring he got me was absolutely hideous), but that was nothing compared to what happened later. I was the tamest one in our room that night.


Squares are furniture. Yes, I sleep in a Spiderman
 position, while Andrew looks like a drowning man.

Let's start with Lucy.



To help with Lucy's story, I've included a horrible (as usual) map of our room. Everyone was peacefully sleeping away, when all of a sudden, Andrew and I woke up to what sounded like a mosh pit in a gift shop. Complete pandemonium. I immediately assumed Super Tika lost control of her flying abilities or her super powerful laser eyes and was destroying the house; my rational thinking may or may not have been functioning at that point.





It turns out Lucy was running full tilt and crashing into everything. Why? I think she might have been sleeprunning. Here's what her trajectory looked like:


Lucy's sleeping warpath.

That shit isn't normal.

She didn't stop crashing into things until Andrew yelled out her name. At that point, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Andrew like "how the hell did I get here?" I then made Andrew take her for a little walk to make sure she didn't have a brain tumor, a seizure or was possessed by the devil. Cause its a well known fact that exercise treats cancer and demonic possession.

Eventually Andrew convinced me that she wouldn't die in the next 48 hours, so we all went back to sleep. The quiet only lasted for about an hour or two.

Andrew started tossing and turning, sounding really stressed/frustrated/upset. He was dreaming again. So I asked him what was wrong, knowing I was probably going to get an interesting answer.

"*mutter mutter* the ankle thingy, before she went in the fire..."

 

 

I was not prepared for that answer. What ankle thingy? Was someone wearing an ankle monitor? Did they have cankles? I don't know what else could be related to ankles. And I won't even take the time to question what the hell is up with some chick going into a fire.

 

After I asked him to elaborate, he seemed to wake up a little, because he looked at me like I was stupid and said "Nevermind." As usual, he has absolutely no recollection of the conversation and unfortunately doesn't remember his dream.

 

Feel free to share your theories on the nature of his dream.

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P.S. I'm still looking for more question to ask Andrew in my Drunk Hick Interview. I've had awesome ones so far, so keep them coming!

Cause After Being Stuck with Each Other for Four Years, We REALLY Need a Vacation

Long post with lots of pictures. Get ready, Bitches, cause this is a marathon!

Here's a little summary of our Four Year Anniversary trip that Andrew and I took.

We'll start off with the fact that rather than taking an hour to get there (the actual time required to get there), it took us two and a half hours. Why, you may ask?

Because even though I gave Andrew a provincial map and a copy of visual and written directions to the lodge, Andrew just assumed he knew the way and winged it.  What should have looked like this...

Ahhh, what a simple and easy journey!

Ended up looking like this.

Where the Fuck are we, Andrew? WE'RE SUPPOSED
TO BE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF GRAND LAKE!

I could elaborate on how our trip could have been corrected multiple times if someone would have simply asked me for directions, but I won't.  Because I would resort to yelling at Andrew. And maybe punch him in the crotch.

Let's just say that our happy times where we sang along with Xavier Rudd were peppered with periods of arguing, followed by long silences (which is difficult to do when Xavier Rudd is playing in the background. Listening to him, you just want to smoke a toke and surf all day. And I don't even smoke, or surf.)

Thank God we weren't listening to country music. Because I would have gotten violent. Like, Naomi Campbell-with-a-cell-phone violent.

When Andrew saw this in the lodge,
he felt at home immediately.

 

So we finally reached the Lodge, where we were greeted by the German owner, who gave us a bright green drink (with alcohol in it, thank God) that he called a Green Lawn. Well, I assume that's the translation of a German drink, because its definitely a horrible-sounding drink in English.

Side note: Google says its a Grüner Rasen. I have no idea how to pronounce that, so I'll just presume that it sounds cool.

So after our drink, we head to our cottage. It was adorable.

I'm pretty sure these beds were 3/4. I
know that encourages cuddling, but at
least a double/full would have been nice

Once we settled in and waited for suppertime, this conversation happened:

Poison, according to Andrew.

Andrew: I feel like they're going to kill us in the middle of the night.   

Me: What?!

Andrew: What if they put something in that lawn drink and poisoned us, or just something to put us to sleep so they could stab us later? 

Me: Why would they kill us? That's horrible for return business.

Apparently, when on vacations, our mental states switch so that Andrew is crazy and dramatically paranoid and I'm the sane one. It was a refreshing experience/ slightly scary to see what I sound like to an average person.

Once he was reassured that no one would die, Andrew proceeded to take a nap. Lucy quickly joined in. I spent my first hour in the cabin mentally alone. (As in, no one was mentally present. Not "the voices in my head finally stopped.")

I eventually woke him up and we headed to the main lodge for dinner.

 It was fabulous. The table setting was all silver, porcelain and crystal. It was not made for people like us.

Although I coached Andrew a little on what fork to use, etc, I really had no idea myself what to use. We pretty much looked like idiots with good taste. Here are pictures of the amazing homemade food.

How do you say fucking delicious in German? Cause this shit was beyond scrumptious.

Apparently in Germany, most restaurants accept dogs and even give them a meal and bowl of water, so we were allowed to brign Lucy in with us. Food tastes so much better when a dog stares at you eating as if you were eating the last meal on Earth.

After supper, we attempted to take a walk through their beautiful trails, but the dog flies were so bad that we ended up going back to the cabin and played card games all night. I won all of the games.

Ok ok, that's a lie. I won one out of five games. But I like to pretend that I won everything.

In the morning, we were once again given a huge, amazing meal.

Is this how Germans eat? Cause if they do, I wouldn't be surprised if they were all morbidly obese. So. Much. Goodness.

 After each gaining five pounds of tastiness, we packed our bags and headed back.

We took the short way home.

Country music played and there was no violence involved.

I Think my Dog has Self-Esteem Issues. As in, It's too High. WWCMD (What Would Cesar Milan Do?)



Andrew and I are celebrating our four year anniverasy this weekend (even though our anniversary was last week) by renting out a log cabin for a mini-weekend, aka one-night-because-that's-all-we-can afford-but-we-can-still-make-it-sound-fancy. The package includes a welcome drink at the main lodge (Andrew wants to try a Grasshopper a la Raj from Big Bang Theory), a three course fine dining meal that we will probably ruin by slurping our soup and using the wrong fork, and a free breakfat that will most likely be too meager for Andrew's Magical Bottomless Stomach.



OMG, HE LOOKED AT ME! I WANT TO RAPE YOU AND
HAVE YOUR BABIES! ITS WRONG, BUT I DON'T CARE!

Regardless of these potential problems, I am super excited. Like, 12-year old girl at a One Direction concert with front row seats excited. This is the first vacation we will take just the two of us since our first year together when we drove to a nearby province to stay at my friend's house for a weekend.

Because we are so unhealthily attached to Lucy that we can't even leave her at Andrew's parents for the night, we are taking her with us.

This means having to buy a carrier to transport her during the trip, since sitting inside a car doesn't work so well. So I invested way more money than I ever anticipated on an extra large dog carrier.

Sidenote: I had previously bought a large-sized dog crate for Lucy, seeing as it was advertised as being compatible for 40-70lbs dogs. However, it turns out that though Lucy may only weigh 50lbs, its all muscle and bone, so she's much bigger than the weight suggests. That, or dog crate companies are assholes that enjoy messing with their customers.

Sidesidenote: why is the abbreviation for pounds lbs? For years as a kid, I had no idea that it was even an abbreviation, so I just pronounced it as luh-bissss. No wonder I never skipped a grade.

Pretty sure there's lazy eye going on in this picture.

So after emptying my wallet, spending a total of 15 minutes getting the carrier in and out of the back seat of my small Oldsmobile,  I brought it to my living room and assembled it. Turns out, I should have had the cats in mind, because they've claimed the giant plastic cave.

Funniest/saddest thing ever. Sako tried to get in the carrier from
the wrong side of the door, got her head stuck for a few seconds,
then panicked and ran away.

 

Lucy finally figured out that it was for her.

We head out tomorrow morning, so I probably won't be posting anything else this for the next couple of days. Everyone enjoy your weekend!