My French Family Reunion

Me and my cousin Steph, who used to blog. Feel free
to go on her blog and bitch at her for not blogging
in over a year. Do it.

Towards the end of the summer, Andrew, my parents and I went up North of the province to go to my mother's family reunion. It only happens every four years, so it's exciting when it finally comes around: we get to pay tribute to the members of our family that have passed on (by choosing one person from each family branch to fight the others to the death. But we're trying to change that). We also like to celebrate all the recent weddings, births, and knocking ups, as it means our plan of world domination can expand. We do all of this celebrating by partying all day and night.

As much as I roll my eyes as Andrew's love for camo and hunting, the French-Canadians of Northern New-Brunswick are basically rednecks: predominantly white, rural, working class people with lots of bad tattoos who listen to French country music (yes, that exists), go to church and love the beer. My family has many of those characteristics and they're awesome.

Since Andrew and my French family were so similar, I thought they would get along great (most of them are bilingual, so Andrew wouldn't have to use his French to communicate. Which is good, because all he knows are "How are you?", "You're a fat cow" and some animal names). To help Andrew better integrate into my family, I decided that I should include an interesting (albeit false) fact about him whenever I  introduced him.    

 I came up with a quite a few. They include: 


This is me in my Typique hat (the mascot of
the big festival held in my mother's hometown)
and a ploye, a local dish that I FUCKING LOVE.



Hi, this is my boyfriend Andrew... he has a glass eye.

...He has an STD.

...He likes to make jokes about killing puppies.

...He has a thing for women over 70.

...He eats banana peels.

...He can't feel anything past his left knee.

...He has a pet moth.

...He once made out with a drag queen. He had no idea it was a man.

...He's wearing a wig.

...He's a eunuch.

...He memorized every Teletubbies episode.

...His aspirations include creating the biggest ball of chewed bubblegum in the world.

...He farts when he's excited.

...He wants to dye our pets' fur in camo.

He didn't appreciate my efforts at all. He still had a pretty good time without the use of my master plan, although he was most likely referred to as "the boyfriend of the crazy chick wearing a porcupine hat."

This is Why We Don't Own Nice Things

After paying more than $2 on a gift bag for my niece's present, I took a picture of it to show it off to my mother. It wasn't until after I sent it that I noticed a little gnawing going on.

 

Nice, Tika. Real nice.

Thank God kids care more about what's inside the bag than the actual bag itself.

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.

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."

 

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.



My Mother, the Ninja.

My mom and I spent the day shopping for craft supplies for tomorrow. Because the best way to celebrate Mother's Day is by spending the day making ponchos and a tutorial on how to print on fabric. That's how we roll, folks.


Nothing says fun times like business cards and USB keys.

We met each other in town, each bringing our significant others in tow. However, as soon as we started shopping, we ditched my dad and Andrew; they were just slowing us down. Feeling that the craft store was too girlie, they ended up hanging out at Staples. After getting our craft supplies, we decided to ambush them.

So off we went to Staples. Once Mom spotted the men, we attempted to sneak up on them. We did this by crouching down in the aisles, quickly peeking to see if they were still in the same spot. Think clownfish in a sea anemone mixed with a giggly ninja. After five minutes of creeping around with my scarf stuffed in my face so as to muffle my laughter, I made a break for it. Unfortunately, I was wearing Kitty Mae Sue, my new cowboy boots, which tend to announce my presence far before I want to. Conclusion: no one was scared by my sneak up, except for perhaps the old man standing next to my dad and Andrew. He was defnitely not expecting me to pop up. While my mom and I giggled madly, the men were not amused.

My mom and I 5 years ago. We were crazy
then too.

Hopefully, the staff that review the security camera tapes enjoy watching a young adult and middle-aged woman pretend to be Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, cause that's the shit they're going to have to watch.

The moral of this story? My mom is insane. INSANELY AWESOME! (Which is not a moral at all. A moral would be "Don't count your chickens before they hatch", which is ridiculous, because you need to know how many might hatch so you can pick out awesome names for them. Like Zippy, or Magnus.)

Sidenote: Another moral suggested by Google was "Two blacks do not make one white," which sounds both completely logical and absurdly racist.

Back to the main story. I am so grateful to have such a great mom. She has not only raised me, but has given me more love than I could ever ask for and taught me so many important things. She deserves to have anything she would ever want, including ponchos.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

And a Happy Mother's Day to all you other awesome and crazy moms out there! Hope you all have a great day!

My Kittens turn me into a Four Year Old

Here's the thing. Before these little fuzzballs, I had never really had cats in my life. My mom had a cat flip shit on her and jump on her head when she was a kid, so she's hated them/been terrified of them ever since. She'll totally deny it, but she does.

HOLY SHIT WATCH OUT MORGAN FREEMAN!

 Because of this, the only cat I knew growing up was my aunts' cat called Souris. And he was an asshole. He was fat, orange, and had a vendetta against me for some reason. Every time we went to visit, I would try to convince him that I was a great person and that we could be best friends and I would give him cat nip and toys IF HE WOULD ONLY LOVE ME GODDAMN IT! But he would only hiss at me and I would run away.

He looked like this, but I swear I never threw him in the water.

But even in this practically nonexistant relationship with cats, punctuated by bad experiences with an ironically-named cat (look it up, non-French people), I still felt like we could have a wonderful connection.

So after Andrew and I got Lucy, a black lab/border collie puppy on cocaine, I felt like I could totally handle a cat. I mean, you really just have to water them every once in a while and keep them in the sun, right? So I pestered Andrew non-stop to get one. After all, me being a good girlfriend, I wasn't going to just go and get one without his consent. Although I could get one against his will.

Point: I'm very, very persistent. I do not give up or back down. Andrew is neither strong willed, nor stubborn enough to win against me. So after three weeks of Andrew holding out, I could see he was starting to crack. So I took advantage.
We got Tika one day, and got her sibling Sako the next. I named them after guns in an attempt to appease the Hick Gods.

And ever since then, I have been in a permanent state of amazement.

I Should not Shop at Costco

Why should you not shop there anymore Christine, you ask? Is it because you spend too much every God damn time? Because you visit the sample ladies so much that they start giving you the stink eye? Because you always get lost and have to call Andrew so he can find you?

No. But yes.

Today, Andrew and I went to Costco in an attempt to finish our Christmas shopping. Instead, we bumped into my parents there and I ended up getting angry. But not at my parents, cause they're cool.

It all started in the toy aisle, where I spotted this:

WHAAAAAAAAAAA!

Pardon the following language.

Who the FUCK is this pony? Belle isn't a little Bitch, she rides Phillippe, the big ass work horse!

Big Ass Workhorse

Weak Ass Pony

Seriously though, Belle is way too much of a bad ass to ride on this little wimp of a horse. She has shit to do and that anorexic My Little Pony won't cut it. I was pissed. So pissed, that I said all of these things out loud in the middle of the store, waving around the box like I could shake it into being awesome. But that was just the beginning, because I then spotted this:

 And this.

 And this.

 GAH!

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON??!?! At least Belle actually had her dad's workhorse in the movie, but the rest of these princesses didn't have any horses. Sure, the Princes had horses, but the only time any of these girls sat on them is when they were being led by their handsome Princes into the Sunset, where they would each have seven children and then die in childbirth. Brutal, but probably true.

So let's go through them quickly.

• Ariel. IS A MERMAID. The only thing she would be riding is a seahorse, and those are fucking small. Yes, she gets legs, but they're damn weak. She could barely walk, so how in the hell is she going to grip the horse with her legs? And Eric doesn't look like he'd let her ride around the countryside alone. Asshole Eric.
• Jasmine. She's an Arabian Princess. She doesn't need to ride a horse. She probably has a fricken elephant to carry her around. Or thirty war slaves.
• Aurora. Is a little bitch. Riding a horse is too scary. Seriously, she's scared of everything. Strange man awesomely singing along with you. Scary. Actually, now that I think about it, Aurora doesn't do anything the entire movie. She sings in the woods, runs away, gets sent to her parents, pricks the damn spindle, sleeps, gets kissed, marries and dances. What a passive little bitch. I'm done talking about that wimp.
• Snow White. Same deal, total wimp. She was scared of the woods, do you think she'll ride her own damn horse? Nuh-uh. She is made for singing, cleaning and looking pretty. And eventually popping out babies.

I know you want to make money, but what the fuck is up with this, Disney??? What's next, Disney Princess dolls with colour coordinated Range Rovers?? Or Disney Princesses, Biker Chicks?

And let's not even talk about the ridiculously long-ass manes the ponies all have.

At this point, my mom got embarrassed, because I had actually started to yell these things, and people were staring. And I was in the middle of the kids aisle. So she ripped the Barbie box from my hand and dragged me away from them. I was still ranting by the time we got to the cheese section.

Yes, I am a grown woman getting pissed about Disney merchandise. Deal with it.

Insanity must be Hereditary

My mother reads my blog. Cause she's awesome and doesn't care that I swear all the fucking time. Ok, I don't swear that much. (sorry for the f-bomb, mom! Hey, that rhymed!) Anyways, she's awesome. And nuts, like me!

I email her from work.

You like my posts? J 

She answers.

FFFOOOUAAAAAAAAA

.... I don't even know how to respond to this.

Emails get boring, so I Spruce them up Sometimes, using some Haikus

In case you didn't notice, the post title was a Haiku. It's because I'm clever. This is an exchange between my mother and I while both at work.

From: Christine
Subject: BONJOUR!

I wanted to send

A Haiku to my mother

So guess what? I did.

From: Mom

A what????

From: Christine

A Haiku poem,

Five syllables, then seven,

And then five again.

From: Mom

Nice – thanks … you are too cute (3-3-3-4)

From: Christine

What are those numbers?

Are you trying a Haiku,

Or is it Bingo?

From: Mom

Lol – no I counted the letters in my phrase!

From: Christine

I know, I checked them,

And I said syllables, not

Letters, silly mom.

From: Mom

OH- bahahaha!!!

From: Christine

This is permanent,

You know, at least for today,

Prepare to be bugged.

From: Mom

oukayyyyy

From: Christine

You should know better

Lol counts as three more

Syllables, ok?

From: Mom

annoyingggggggggg

From: Christine

I told you it would,

But I’m committed to it,

Though I’m not crazy.

From: Mom

HA – not too sure about that!!  

It's obvious that my mother isn't intune with her poetic side.

P.S. Any comment will be answered in Haiku format. Obviously.