I am 22 Years Old, and I'm Currently Being Grounded

Yes, it's true. I've been grounded. By my boyfriend.

Why? Because I told him that I wanted to go try out wedding dresses.


Like this one. Or the gazillion others I have found online.

See? This could be me, ANDREW!

When I told this to Andrew, he was a little (a lot) displeased, seeing that we're not even engaged yet. Apparently, while watching tons of bridal shows and having an entire board in Pinterest dedicated to wedding ideas is completely okay, voicing my desire to wear white lace gowns that just happen to be wedding dresses is "taking things too damn far, Christine!"

Why yes, it's always Winter here in Canada.

So last night we got a snowstorm. Like a stereotypical Canadian, the storm was polite enough to wait until everyone was home before starting to gently drop giant snowflakes. It then stopped before sunlight, so everyone could go on with their lives.

So thanks, Canadian weather!

We got 30 centimeters of snow (almost 12 inches) and all of the fur babies got to experience it in some way. And I edited the videos, in order to set the mood for all of you. You're welcome.

Summary: Lucy treats snow like cocaine.

YOUTUBE CAN BE SO MAGICAL!

OH MY GOD EVERYONE!

This just made me the happiest person in the entire world.

Seriously, these owls and the accompanying music is making me feel like I've just inherited a unicorn.

If only you guys could hear the sounds I am making as I watch this video.

Hello, my Name is Christine, and I am a Hypochondriac.

Last night was a bit of an ordeal. However, before I talk about yesterday I need to bring in a little bit of backstory. Mostly to show that sometimes being a little paranoid saves lives, Andrew!


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As some of you know, I'm kind of totally a hypochodriac. This means that I have anxiety concerning my health and the health of others. While I'm not extreme to the point that I constanly think I have AIDS or cancer, I'm certainly not all Matthew McConaughey when it comes to my health (yes, I just turned Matthew McConaughey into an adjective.)

To those who don't quite get it, I have made it easier to understand through the examples given by Hypochondriac Squirrel.

I actually made this one myself.  True story.

The Other Half of V Day with my Other Half

After I received my wonderful surprises, I went to work. As I said, I was late. But it was totally worth it.

After an extremely boring day at work, I left early in order to pretty myself up. I wanted to look so nice that Andrew would be completely wowed as soon as he entered the door.  I wanted his jaw to drop. I wanted him speechless.

This was my V Day look, adding a winter coat.



I didn't plan out my time correctly. He walked in to find me still in my work clothes, covered in animal fur, with half of my hair curled, and all of the animals all over me. Instead of bombshell, he got a girl in need of a bomb squad. And we needed to leave in 15 minutes.

Andrew was taking me on a sleigh ride with other couples at our local park, followed by a dinner at the park's lodge. So I needed to be dressed warmly. I threw on as many layers of clothes as possible and hid my hairtastrophy under a hat. Our romantic date was going to have to deal with a little less glamour, and a little more hobo-chic.

We got to the lodge just in time, me toting a big fluffy quilt, because Andrew had the good sense to suggest I bring one to keep warm. Thank God he did, because I would have ruined the evening by complaining about the cold. Because I am a horrible Canadian by virtue of my wimpiness when it comes to the cold.


This has nothing to do with the sleigh ride, but it's still
hilarious.



We hopped onto the sled with nine other couples and away we went. We were being pulled by giant horses called Ned and Ginger; pretty boring names for horses, if you ask me. I would have called them Chester Firefox and Bonnafide Shazaam. Now those would be horses with spunk!

So, I guess I had promised I would write about Valentine's Day: YEAH, V DAY!

How ridiculous. Goats can't tie bows.

I just want to start out by saying that, on a scale of one to ten, as a romantic, Andrew is a banana. He is usually about as romantic as a goat. And I have never once, in my life, met a romantic goat. 

But, for some reason, he was actually extremely wonderful this Valentine's Day (perhaps because I nagged him a lot, or he suddenly reazlied that burping away from my face did not constitute as a romantic gesture).

Now, before anyone starts protesting that it can't be that bad, I will have you know that for our first Valentine's Day, Andrew bought me a gun. A rifle, to be exact. Are you still defending him? Yeah, I thought so.

Okay, back to happy, lovey, non-weapon-related thoughts.

This, my friends, is burnt.

I woke up alone yesterday alone, as usual (Andrew leaves for work an hour before I do). Well, not completely alone, since Lucy crawls into bed with me as soon as Andrew leaves. Anyways, I got up and started getting ready for work. First stop: the toaster, for my nicely heated and lightly browned, but not crispy toast. Cause once it gets crunchy, it officially gets the "burnt" label, even though Andrew says it's actually just called being "toasted". You say to-may-to, I say tomate. Because I'm French.

This is Why We, as a Couple, Work

This text exchange just happened.

Me: You know what would be the best Valentine's Day present?
Andrew: No
Me: A peacock. Preferably one named Jerry.
Andrew: Not this time of year.

He is not saying no to a peacock. He is saying not right now. Which really means that he will eventually get me one.

This would make us the absolute coolest people ever.

Yes, Jerry. Yes, you are.



Oh, I'm Sorry. I thought you were trying to pay in Monopoly Money.

Woah! That's a lot of paper dimes!

Of course this happened at Canadian Tire. If we're not at home or at work, we're most likely there. It's basically Andrew's second home. But of course, I need to go with him, although I have no idea why. All I know, is if I don't go, he doesn't bring me to PetSmart to go pet the kitties. And I have to pet the kitties. Or my heart is not complete.

Anyways, we were strolling through Canadian Tire, (hunting aisle of course. You are dim if you thought we were in any other aisle.) when I randomly started humming the "Wedding March". I didn't start humming on purpose, but it was like my subconscious was trying to reach out to Andrew to make HIM PROPOSE ALREADY DAMNIT! But that's just my subconscious thinking.

Hey, don't blame me! Blame my subconscious!

So after I had hummed a little bit of it, Andrew began humming the "Funeral March". Once he got out of the rack of hunting coats I had pushed him in, he protested that he thought they just sounded really similar. He then hummed both of them to try to prove himself right. Of course, it was horribly out of tune, so both sounded the same, because they sounded nothing like the originals.

I then let him know that he didn't confuse the two because they sound alike, but because they mean the same thing in his mind. I know this, because I'm studying psychology. And therefore know everything. This is obviously sarcasm. The first part wasn't sarcasm though.

Me, on our wedding day in Andrew's mind.
Bouquet? Who needs a bouquet?

He could not disagree.

IF I COULD TURN BACK TI-IME! Wait, wrong Diva. Damn.

I've been wearing a clip in my hair all morning, and just found out that the hair has unevenly parted to one side. Basically, I've been rocking a perky side ponytail a-la-80s.

Kinda like this, but with WAY nicer eyebrows. And less makeup.

Really though, what are up with those eyebrows? It's like they should be called Brunhilde and Friedel.

RAGE! ... And then happiness.

Feeling extreme rage right now. Trying not to explode, turn into the Hulk, or flip over a table.

Sidenote, and also funny/cute story that I will use to distract myself, which will therefore become the main point of this post:

The first summer I met Andrew, I had done up a list of things I wanted to do that summer, such as have a picnic, going rock climbing, and dancing in the rain (which was AWESOME, by the way. It was raining, sunny AND there was a double rainbow. Best raindance ever.)

Like this, but in a shirt and shorts instead. And in a trailer park.



One of the things on the list of things to do was to flip a table, vocal expression of outrage included. Because it sounded totally badass.



Not a WHUMP, but more of
a RAAAAAAARGH!



So one day, Andrew and I were at his grandparent's farm when he brought me to his grandfather's cabin. Inside, he set up the wooden table with dishes and cutlery (which were plastic, thank God) and told me to flip it. I could not refuse. I flipped that motherfucker like I had just been told that Andrew secretly had a love child, or that my salad was going to cost $80. Shit flew everywhere. It was amazing. And totally satisfying.

A week later, we went to visit his grandfather and his friends in the cabin. One of them commented how the table had become really wobbly lately. I snorted.

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I feel better now. Rage subsided. Happiness reclaimed.

Lucy is a Classy Gal. She takes after her Father, in that Way.

This morning, Lucy was happily playing with one of her toys that looks like a gay pride loofah after eating her breakfast (which we call her "yum yums", as in "IT'S TIME TO EAT YOUR YUM YUMS, LUCY GOOSEY!"). All of a sudden, I hear a ginormous burp come out of her. Along with some of her chewed up yum yums from earlier. It landed on her gay loofah.

Taken from hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com
Best. Blog. Ever.

Lovely.

Startled, she looked at her newly decorated loofah toy. She seemed puzzled, like she had no idea where the food came from. After a few contemplative seconds, she decided that she was indeed a food machine, and kept playing with her toy. Dog food and all.

I hope my future children turn out better.