Why I Don't Ski (Part II) - Or, Yes, I was a Big Baby. But it was Scary, ok?

This is a continuance of Part I (in case you have no common sense. Or you never look at titles. Or you're illiterate. Although in that case, you can't read any of this. So just look at pictures.)



This 3 year old is better than me. And that is sad.



So there I was, laying in the snow.

Little children wizzed by me, oblivious to the disaster on the verge of tears they passed. Andrew came over and coached me back up. He then showed me again how to slow down by pointing my skis inward, which simply made me run my skis into each other.

Wipeout number two.

I ended up playing Twister in the snow with my skis. Of course, the skis won.

Have I mentioned I've only gone about 15 feet down the bunny hill at this point?



"This bitch be crazy!"



I got up again and kept trying, but whenever I would go faster than 10 km/h, I'd panic and fall down. I eventually broke down. It was like Oprah's ugly cry. There was sobbing. There was gross face squishing and tears. Probably some snot too.



Why I Don't Ski (Part I) - Or, When Anticipation leads to Fear, which leads to Snow in my Face

Let's start off by stating that Andrew is an excellent skiier. He could win an amateur's Olympics. Ok, he'd probably place. But the point is he's pretty fabulous at skiing.


FABULOUS!

Because of his ease on the slopes, he naively assumed it would be easy for everyone, including me. Boy, was he wrong.

He brought me to our local ski hill to teach me. I was wearing a nice pair of blue ski boots we had bought specially for the occasion, a pair of ripped up black ski pants and a hideously pouffy off-white marshmellow-looking coat that makes me look like a pale and sickly Albanian boy. The hat, gloves and scarf did not match anything either. I basically looked a hot mess.

If only I knew that my fashion results would predict my skiing results...

We went inside the lodge to rent me some skis and poles. Of course they were red, in order to not match anything. Still, at this point I was still confident that this would be a wonderful learning experience.



To better visualize. Also, what a
pointless Pokemon.

We reached the bunny hill, Andrew expertly walking in his skis, me flopping around behind him. Think Magikarp, but standing, on skis. I then learned that I was supposed to get to the top of the hill by grabbing onto a metal bar, which would pull me up. Essentially forcing me to ski uphill before I even learned how to ski in the first place.

I stood next to the ski tow while Andrew tried to coax me on it, as bar after bar passed me. I just shook my head while five year olds cut in front of me and hooked onto the ski tow like total pros. Finally (probably with a promise of giving me cookies later) I got into place as it pulled me. As soon as I started slowly going up the hill, things were going figuratively going downhill for me.

No Post Today. Wait, Damnit. Well, I Guess this is Today's Post.

This is going to be a short post because I am working on a longer post that highlights one of my truly special days. And by special, I mean a complete failure. Usually, my instances of great failures are due to one of my "great ideas", this particular time the idea was suggested by Andrew. I was only dumb enough to agree.

The story will be coming soon. Maybe in parts. I don't know yet, so don't pressure me.

Now here is a picture that cracks me up.

LOL! Gets me every time.

Picnik is Free! And I don't understand myself sometimes.

So I found out a few days ago that the Picnik website was shutting down in April. For those who were not in high school or university between 2008 and 2011, Picnik is an easy to use photo editing website that girls like to use to make their photos more dramatic, melodramatic song lyrics included. Usually you have to pay for a membership to get access to the really fancy features, but since they are shutting down, they're made the premium features free to everyone. What does that mean to me?

That means that I go to town.

I decided to spend a little time with my best friend, Nostalgia (not a real person). I edited some pictures of my furry children to make them more dramatic. And therefore ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.

I increased the emotionality (which may or may not be a real word) by including some unbelievably corny and cheesy made-up quotes. Except for the first quote. That shit I credit to Mr. Disney.



How high does the Sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know... Seriosuly.



Bag of love. LOL

Ingenious, or Desperate?

It was a trick question! It's both resourceful And pathetic.

Two whole cups of deliciousness right there!

I did this for you bitches. With lots of love.

I would just like to point out that this picture was from one of those times that I got really drunk and imitated a squirrel, sipped on a Sourpuss shot like it was tea, and got aggressively hit on by an angry lesbian.

It was a great night.

New-Year Andrew is a Happy Andrew

In honour of yesterday's Lunar New Year, here are a couple of pictures of Andrew during our family's New Year celebrations.

"If I close my eyes, the camera can't see me."

Notice the amount of beads around Andrew's neck. We began the night each having our own bead necklace. Andrew then flashed everyone in my family, including my dad, mother, sister and her wife, in order to earn everyone's necklaces. Andrew, however drunk he may have been, knew not to flash my 12 year old neice.

And for that, I love him.

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Also, this is my 100th post. So let's celebrate, bitches! HELL YES! In honour of this acheivement, I'm going to do something awesome. I'm not quite sure what yet, but I only know it will be fabulous.



See what I did there? Yeah, it was clever.

Wheel of Randomly-Generated Words.

While trying to find a new Gamertag or whatever the hell it's called, Andrew was given a few lovely and highly creative suggestions by the Xbox 360. Here are a few:

VolubleTrout

vol·u·ble [vol-yuh-buhl] adjective. characterized by a ready and continuous flow of words



I was Told to Blog more.

So here it is. My Saturday.

Side note: The boring subjectmatter is due to not having anything extraordinary happening, and the fact that the original post I had written was downright rejected by Andrew. Also, I am not sure if subjectmatter is one word. My head tells me no, but my heart tells me yes.

Not THIS Woodstock. Which is a shame.

Yesterday, Andrew and I had an adventure! It consisted of going to Woodstock, a town one hour away from our place. It was like going to Disney, but only with less people dressed up and more teenage mothers. This only comes to show how little it takes to amuse me. It was the highlight of my year!  I can say that, because it's only January.

Anyways, I brought my camera, ready to chronicle my adventure for all you four readers. Unfortunately, I was so excited to be roadtriping that I completely forgot about the camera until the end.

But that's ok, because the second most exciting thing that happened was seeing an old man wearing a fluorescent yellow coat, reflecter strips included, and holding a giant Spongebob Squarepants grocery bag. Which is frankly not that amazing.

The one most exciting thing that happened in Woodstock, was this!

Pay no attention to the sweat pants.

I GOT ME SOME NEW COWBOY BOOTS BABY! I ALSO PAID A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR THEM! BUT THAT'S OK, BECAUSE I GOT A 50 CENT RAISE AT WORK! Andrew the Wannabe Cowboy is so jealous right now. These boots are so wonderfully awesome, they make me feel like I could wrangle a sheep or a cow or something. I have sudden urges to tip my non-existant hat to everyone. I have become a Country Superstar in these boots, minus the country music. I shall name the boots Kitty Mae Sue. They are my new best friend. (Sorry, Cow Eyes and friend that will be known to the Blogsphere as Switzerland.)

I was also served at Tim Horton's by two happy German women, one wearing Harry Potter-style glasses. Definitely not as interesting as the Cowboy boots, but important enough to note.

Andrew and I ate supper at Pizza Hut, where I was constantly distracted by the hat shape on my water glass.

IS IT A HAT, OR A STRANGE-SHAPED PIZZA?

At the end of the meal, Andrew proclaimed that he would pay the bill and that this was a surprise date. I was all, "Andrew, you're supposed to state it's a date when the date starts, not when it ends." His reply, "Yeah, but we've been on so many dates. This one was more fun because you didn't know it was a date. It made it more exciting for you!" I still don't understand that reasoning.

Official Funny Kitty Picture Day. Cause I said so.

Ok, these are more cute than funny.

You know what these need? FUNNY CAPTIONS.

FUNNY CAPTIONS CONTEST!

Submit your caption ideas in the comments. Winners will win my approval. And maybe a Stalker Acronym Poem. Maybe.

Seriously, Lucy?

A side effect of living in Atlantic Canada is getting some ridiculously cold weather. Yesterday was particularly bad, with the temperature dipping to below -30 (Celsius, you non-Canadians!) with the wind chill factor.

Tangent: I just found out it's called the wind chill factor, as opposed to the windsheild factor, as Andrew so amusingly pointed out. Wind chill makes so much more sense cause really, what does a windsheild have to do with weather?

Added Tangent: Andrew told me that it was so funny because the only other person he had ever heard use the term windshield factor was a crackhead he used to work with. Yes, I was compared to a crackhead. But I was reasured that I'm much prettier.

Because of the freezing cold, I felt bad for Lucy and decided to let her stay inside for the day. Knowing her past history with unsupervised housesitting, I took care to have shit on lockdown. All the doors were closed, the food put up on the counters, the leftover Christmas decorations on top of the piano, the cat toys in the cat room, etc. I was twenty minutes late for work because I was so busy cleaning up the crap. I also gave her millions of chewy toys and bones to keep her busy during the day.

Did I come home to the Hell I witnessed before Christmas? No. I entered into more of a Purgatory; not as bad as hell, but most definitely not a fun place to be.

Tika doesn't give a fuck.

The most ironic part of all this is the book that she tore to pieces:

Her mess was a mixture of shredded cardboard and paper, plastic boxes, a boxed smoke detector and one packet of Apple Cinnamon Instant Oatmeal. As you all can guess, I was not pleased. She was put in a time out and had her toys taken away.

To be petty, here are some embarassing pictures of Lucy, courtesy of Andrew-the-Fashion-Designer. (Because the clear solution to this problem is shaming my dog into submission using the internet to spread photos.)

Take that, bitch.

Woah Woah WOAH, Ukraine!



WHY MUST THE SLAVS TAUNT ME SO?!

 Either another Slavic country discovered me, or Russia has hired Ukraine to spy on me, because yesterday was FULL of Ukranian pageviews. I'm going to err on the side of paranoia and assume that they're also trying to kill me. ("The Ukraine girls really knock me out"? I'm taking those lyrics as a warning to me from the Beatles. Thanks, Beatles!)


The Chinese dude.



As some Chinese dude said, "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." So in the interest of my survival, I'm going to learn as much about Ukraine as I can. Because the ability to spout off random facts will somehow save me in the case of an assassination attempt.

It makes sense, okay?

So, from what I've gathered, they talk with their hands alot and are super patriotic. Their version of vodka is called horylka and is made with red peppers. The average Ukranian drinks 15.6 liters of alcohol a year, which is one liter more than Irishmen. 

Someone put horseshoes, or in this case fleashoes, on a flea. The flea is in a museum. Yeah, I'm serious. Most websites talking about Ukranian facts mention this one.

Most Ukranians speak Russian, which only tells me that they're definitely spies.

Does any of this information help? No, no it doesn't. I am still completely unprepared in the case of a Ukranian attack. But what I do have is a craving to try horylka with them.

Like I did with my Russian viewers, I ask my Ukranian readers to comment on this post. If you don't, it proves you're after me. If you do, please don't yell at me. It's not my fault I'm neurotic (plus, your language is really pretty, so... that's good, right?).

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By the way, I totally saved the day at work while simultaneously filling up my exercise quota for the day. I'm like Superman, but way sexier.

Andrew Hates me Because I am a Good Shot

He totally has good reason to be angry. But I actually am a good shot.

Earlier today we were at his parents house for a family game night. It happened while we were waiting to set-up the Whitetail-opoly (No joke. I ordered it online for him for our first Christmas together and now, three and a half years later, he finally decides to play it.). I was sitting next to Andrew at the table, bored when I decided to play with the first things I could get my hands on.



I got to be a big rack, and owned a couple of taxidermy places. 



It's the top part of this whatsitcalled.

 It just so happened that the nearest things were a small rubber band and one of those plastic hanger hook thingies. I don't know how to better explain it, so I somehow found a picture online. Okay, now you know.



So I put both together and started playing around. I basically created a rudimentary slingshot.

I have a feeling most of you see where this is going.

At one point, I thought to myself "Gee, this could probably go pretty far..." It is at this point that I slipped. And it flew. It flew hard, right into Andrew's eye. It was amazing how accurately it hit him, really. I gasped in shock. He was not impressed. In fact, he was downright pissed. Since we were in the presence of Andrew's four-year-old nephew, he said "What. The. FUCK. Christine."

I apologized a million times while trying extremely hard not to laugh. I ended up getting the silence treatment for 4 entire hours.

But seriously, it was an awesome shot.

A Little Tip Concerning Lip Health

Here's some advice, from me to you.

I have had ALOT of finger-to-lip contact in the past
15 minutes.

If you feel that your lips are dry and all you have in your purse that you think could be useful is Polysporin - Heal-Fast Formula, DO NOT use it like lipgloss.

It turns out that the "Pain Relief" in "3 Antibiotics + Pain Relief" is actually just a numbing agent. The result? Tingly lips that eventually go completely numb, or lip paresthesia, if you care to be fancy about it. No matter how intellectual you may sound when you talk about it, there is nothing intellectual about having to drink through a straw so that you don't pour it all down your chin.

Update: I am not Invisible. I am Non-Existant.

So I'm talking to another Admin. Ass at work when this guy Brian comes up to me and starts asking me if I know how to load RFMs into the database. I give him this look.

He then goes on to say "Well, this woman called me asking how to do that and I sent her to you, so you might be getting a call soon. I told her, 'If anyone in this office knows how, it's Jennifer.'" My answer?

"...But my name is Christine."

He then goes from confused, to embarased, to apologetic. Now, here's the thing. He didn't get my name mixed up. He actually thought I was another girl in our office. Apparently, I'm not even good enough to be my own person.

I'm going to make myself a giant name tag now.

My Camera is a Drama Queen

While trying to download pictures of Andrew's Birthday Suit onto my laptop, I get this screen.

For those who don't have binoculars with them, here is a closer look at the error message I got.

Catastrophic Failure. I'll let that one sink in a little.

What the hell could possibly be going on in my camera that would be so catastrophic? Is there a war I don't know about happening inside my camera? An earthquake? Genocide? Plague?

I have gotten a lot of error messages from technology, but never something so histrionic. It's like my camera is a 14 year old girl. I'm surprised it didn't start crying, yelling "NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME".

Andrew in his Birthday Suit

The coat was his gift from me, the gun, from his
dad and the pants, from himself. Hick much?

Here's my domestic partner, my hunter, and my other half. He turned 25 today. He took the day off from work to properly celebrate. His activity of choice?

Hunting. Duh.

He also played crib with his dad, went Hollywood Hunting (which is when you drive around in a truck through trails to find a target, for all you non-Hicks) and visited his Grandfather's farm. Cause he's so Rock'n'Roll.

I am unexplicably in love with that man.

Here's to another year of country-singing, Lucy-loving, sleep-talking, Western-quoting, gun-toting Andrew.

Happy Birthday Andrew. Be happy I didn't put a bunch of embarassing pictures of you, as I had originally planned.


The cake I made for his 24th. He didn't get
one this year, because he is a grownup now.



I Can be Very Persuasive to myself. Luckily, Myself is also Quite Stubborn.

I was about to ask you guys if it was possible to have a headache in your nose when I realized my keyboard wasn't working (The computer-keyboard. My piano-keyboard works great.)

So I had to crawl under my desk to investigate, follow the keyboard wire and plug it in.

It was five minutes later that I noticed that I was just chillin' under my desk. Just sitting there, leaning against the back of it. I strongly contemplated taking a nap, but then decided against it since I am the receptionist and the first thing people would see are my feet sticking out from under the desk.

Inner Voice: But not very many new people come into the office, Christine.
Me: Yeah, but even the people who do work here might not enjoy finding me sleeping on the job...
Inner Voice: Just tuck your feet in and no one will see you. Just close your eyes and sleep a little. You deserve it!
Me: You're right. I'll just close my.. Wait, no! Do you want me to get fired, Inner Voice?!
Inner Voice: YES! We could do so much more if you didn't have a stupid job. Jobs are for losers.
Me: I'm going to sit back in my chair and stop having a conversation with myself now.
Inner Voice: NOOOOoooooooooooo........

Yep. So I'm now sitting in my chair, longingly glancing at the space at my feet. Damn my desire to keep my job!

A Few more Nighttime Conversations

Due to the current lack of adventure in my life, here are a few comments made by Andrew in his sleep.

Andrew:...That is some creepy shit right there....

(As much as I tried to get more information out of Andrew, that was all he muttered. I even woke him up in an attempt to question his conscious self while the dream was still fresh. It wasn't fresh and he wasn't happy.)



What it would look like it if Andrew
actually did road marking.



Another night....

Andrew: I did it!

Me: What did you do Andrew?

Andrew: I painted the white lines!

(Apparently he was painting the stripes on streets and highways in his dream. Who knew that could evoke such a feeling of pride?)

One of my abolute favourite Sleeping with Psycho moments was when all of a sudden  like a total death-ninja, sleeping Andrew darted down, grabbed one of my feet and tickled the bottom of it as I was sleeping. After I kicked him away, he woke up and told me he was grabbing the gardening hose. Talk about a rude awakening.

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Is this a dream? Wait, I DON'T CARE!!

I just realized how boring most of Andrew's dreams are; watering the garden, turning on truck lights, painting the highway... WHERE'S THE ACID TRIP INSPIRED DREAMS, MAN?!?!

P.S. Remind me to write about the time I accidentally punched Andrew in my sleep and the time I accidentally slapped him. But the slap he deserved.

First Quote of 2012

While watching Shrek 2, when the Fairy God Mother convinces Shrek that Fiona is better off with Prince Charming.

Me: I may be a Princess, but I still choose to be with my Ogre.
Andrew: I may be an Ogre, but you're still a bitch.

That's true love right there.