Maybe Next Halloween?

Me: I have the best idea for a couples Halloween Costume. Ever. 

Andrew: Oh yeah? What is it? 

Me: I dress up like a hooker, and you give me a piggyback all night. 

Andrew: Ok... I don't get it. 

Me: What would I be in relation to you?

Andrew: ... A really clingy hooker? 

Me: A BACKHOE! 

A costume that would merge Andrew's interest in Heavy
Equipment and his love of scantily clad women.

 Yep, I'm the most clever person in the entire world.

In Case You Thought I was Joking About Being Invisible



 

I really wasn't. 

Proof, motherfuckers.

You know, Courtney only has three different letters than Christine. And four letters out of place.

But the C is definitely in the right place.

 

The Biggest Birthday Party Ever (A Person or Two Might have Called it a Local Bachelorette Party)

So last Friday, I went to my Birthday Party with two friends. It was fabulous. The bridal store really worked hard to make it the best party possible. Just for me.



Lawyer and Ginger, also known as Maid of Honour and Bride
to be, also known as awesome people to get drunk with.

We entered a beautiful banquet room at one of the best hotels in the city. There was a dance floor, a DJ booth, a Henna tattoo stand, a photo booth, the fashion runway, a lounge area and three separate bars (so I didn't have to wak more than 15 feet to get a cranberry-sourpuss-vodka, which I like to call a Party Hour Sweet & Sour).

There were also a bunch of servers offering hors d'oeuvres, but they kept presenting me with seafood, and I was all Haven't you seen The Little Mermaid? Shame on you for killing Sebastian and Flounder!

 

As soon as I got in, Lawyer started buying me drinks. I had no problems whatsoever with this.

 

After a drink or two and a visit to the photo booth, we watched the fashion show. Since I watch America's Next Top Model, I (irrationally) think I'm an amazing judge of runway-walking skills. This means I spent most of the fashion show critiquing the models for their sub-par walks. 

 

You're supposed to sell me the dress. Work it, damnit!

  

Horrible posture and arms, although great attitude.




After the show, there were multiple draws to win prizes. I won a $10 gift card for a jewelry store where bracelets start at around $150. When I got the card, I was like YAY BIRTHDAY PRESENT! Now I see that its basically like saving 7% or less on an item I couldn't afford unless I stopped spending money on cheese and chocolate. Which, let's face it, is never going to happen.

 

Oh, did I forget to mention that there were multiple half-naked men hired to throw lollipops at women and to socialize with the desperate single bridesmaids and the brides-to-be with low morals?

There was also a stripper that gave shows on her pole and taught some girls (and the half-naked men) some moves.

Sidenote: Before her show, the stripper was just walking around like everyone else. As soon as I saw her, I was like Bing-bing-bing! That's definitely a stripper. Turns out that I don't have much of a gaydar, but I do have a great stripperdar.

Us being women of incredible class, preferred to shun the men and grope each other instead.





There is 100% ass-groping going on in this picture.

We proceeded to drink some more.

 





I asked Ginger if it was appropriate to throw money at them.
She said it totally was.

Afterwards, we hit the dance floor, were I taught Ginger how to dance to Gangam Stye while Lawyer looked on disapprovingy (she is a hipster and absolutely refuses to join in any fads, unless they involve wine). After a while, the party planners kicked us off the dance floor so a Burlesque troop could perform.

Men were invited to attend the party after 10pm, but Andrew refused to join, so I sent him pictures of the show with the message See what you're missing? HALF-NAKED WOMEN SHAKING THEIR BOOBS AND ASSES!

 



We were clearly drunk at this point Also, notice the wasted
woman about to poledance in the background.

The night ended with some good old fashioned dancing to the Spice Girls. Then the girls said it was time to call the boys to take us all to our separate homes, since it would take them half an hour to get to us.

 

Because I was having a blast, I totally forgot that there were free limo rides, so as we got texts that our rides were here, the host of the party announced that the limos had arrived and were ready to take the first batch of drunk-ass girls home. Although I suggested that we could just send the boys back home and take the limo instead, both Lawyer and Ginger pointed out that that decision might lead to unfortunate consequences, such as ridiculously angry boyfriends.

 

Before we left, we took one last picture together:

 

 

This was the first attempt of the last picture of the night:

 

My liver didn't like me the morning after.

Blogiversary Year One: I'm Slowly Sucking Andrew into my World of Blogging.

I can't believe its actually been a year since I started sharing my neuroses and other abnormalities with the world.

I wanted to organize a Giveaway, but then I remembered I'm broke as hell. So instead, I'm sharing a Pinterest Board full of things Andrew likes. He refused to create his own account, but was willing to personally pick out things that he thought were awesome. So click here if you want to see pretty women and funny animal photos. Like this:

This picture makes Andrew laugh ridiculously hard every
single time he sees it. Every. Single. Time.

It's clearly a work in progress.

Sidenote: I was actually going to have a comment draw where the winner would get a creepy personal acronym poem like the ones I used to write in High School, but then I thought that might be pushing the envelope in the wrong direction. Pulling the envelope? I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore...

Thank you for loving my weirdness and sharing your own kick ass comments and stories.

Let's just Rename Andrew M. André Bibliothécaire and give him a Berret and Monocle.

Holy shit you guys.

I'm pretty sure Andrew was kidnapped last night and replaced by a clone/robot/cleverly disguised genius llama, cause some weird shit went on.

Sidenote: For those who didn't know/forgot, I'm French Canadian.

When talking to my dad on the phone, Andrew casually asked me Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?, which is French for "What's he saying?" Let me explain why this is so astounding. 

DIE, CHEVREUIL, DIE!

Andrew's knowledge of French can be categorized into three different subjects:

1. The basics, such as Bonjour, comment ça va, etc.
2. Most of the animals of the forest. That way, he can identify them in both languages before blowing their heads off.
3. Swear words. Lots of swear words. Pretty much all of the swear words.

This is the vocabulary of a French toddler, if that toddler happened to be raised by sailors with no parenting experience.

So the fact that Andrew was able to form an entire sentence completely on his own that, while being small in size, was filled with contractions and complicated structure is nothing short of a small miracle.

This is why I simply stared at him in awe, whispering "what did you say?!" Probably feeling extremely superior, he smugly repeated the question with a flawless French accent and walked away. I finished my call with my father and stayed on the couch, wondering who the hell I've been living with for the past 3 years.

Then, later in the same day, I turned away from the computer to find this:


Notice the bag of Teddy Grahams under the chair.
I was not joking about the Teddy Grahams.

Never, in the entire 4+ years I've been with Andrew, have I ever seen him read a book, never mind a novel.

Sure, I've seen him read books about guns and reloading gun shells, enjoy cowboy comic books and glance at hunting magazines, but never an actual book with over 100 pages. And no pictures.

I was so shocked, I took a picture of it as proof that it actually happened because otherwise, no one would believe me.

Two Days Before my Blogiversary, it all Comes Full Circle.

Remember when I created this blog in order to vent out my frustrations that I was completely invisible at my previous job? That, after 5 months on the job, I was called Courtney in a company email?

It just fucking happened.

Again.

At a completely different job, where I have now been for over 4 months, I have received not one, but two packages in the mail today on which I am refered to as Courtney C.

I... I have no words.

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!

In Case you Thought the Crazy Wedding Bitch Left the Building

She definitely hasn't. She's alive and well and still crazy as fuck, making sure Andrew knows I'd like to be an honest woman before I reach menopause.

And what better way to let him know I want to become Mrs. Andrew Hick than by going to a city-wide Bachelorette Party hosted by a local Bridal Gown Boutique for my birthday!

 

HELL NO!

Sidenote: No, his last name isn't actually Hick.

Sidesidenote: After reading my first sidenote outloud, Andrew responded "That would be awesome."

I'M GONNA HAVE A SPARKLY BIRTHDAY!

So this Friday (IN THREE DAYS!), I'm spending the night getting drunk with Bride-to-be Swizzy and two other friends (another BTB and Maid of Honour) surrounded by glitter and gowns. Since this party just happened to fall on my birthday, I'm assuming that they organized this just for me, so I'm going to pretend that it's my own personal wedding-themed birthday party.

I have a feeling some brides might get angry with me by the end of the night.

After getting shitfaced, I plan on using their complimentary drive home because I think they might have gotten a limo, and I want to feel like P. Diddy, minus the ridonkulous amount of name changes. And since I live way out of town, I'm going to get the driver to drop me off exactly at the city limit, and have Andrew drive me the rest of the way home.

A camera will be brought to the event in order to capture the true beauty behind me getting trashed.

Add a Little Sex Appeal to your Front Yard this Halloween

Do you feel like your lawn needs more trashy seductiveness?

 

Do you want the atmosphere around your home to scream out bimbo! without having to resort to ridiculously skanky costumes that only vaguely look like the character they're supposed to represent? (Not that it will stop you from dressing up as that sexy nurse.)

 

Do you think to yourself "Pumpkins and Scarecrows just don't get me hot and bothered anymore"?

 

Do you just love whores?

 

If you said yes to these questions, consider purchasing the Halloween Hooker Skeleton!

 

Venereal disease and  18th century pimp not included.

We saw this at our local Canadian Tire. They were on sale and yet no one seemed to be buying them. Probably because prostitute chic is so last year.

"Hey baby, how much
for your honey?"

Sidenote: Do prostitutes actually dress up on Halloween night? Like, can you pick up the bumblebee and the ghost on the corner?

Welcome New Followers (I Clearly Owe Lauren a Justin Timberlake Poster)

Hello to Lauren's Blogstalkers, and welcome!

This is me welcoming you while posing in front of absolutely nothing.

Since you guys are new and I don't want to just regurgitate my "About Me" page, I thought you may like a quick list of my previous posts that aren't crap. You know, so we can become best friends and make each other friendship bracelets and have sleepovers and talk about one another behind the other's back. So here we go!

• This Post is a Cry for Help. From your Boobs.
• A rant about the general use (or lack thereof) of sport bras while jogging.
How's This for a Back-From-Holiday Post?
• It turns out I'm absolutely terrified of rodent invaders. And by terrified, I mean screeching and sobbing while standing on the bed.
• Dr. Christine - Like Dr. Phil, but WAY more doable.
• Some relationship advice concerning communication. Hint: the key is puppets.
• Why Catholics are Crazy (Or, when Willpower bites you in the Butt)
• I attempted to practice the P90X version of Lent and ended up in the foetal position.
• Hello, my Name is Christine, and I am a Hypochondriac.
• The title pretty much speaks for itself. I also use Matthew McConaughey as an adjective. It's definitely going to turn into a thing. Like Bootylicious, or Amazeballs. 

If you haven't already stopped reading, here are other labels to check out:

• Sleeping with Psycho
• Andrew tends to sleepwalk/talk and when I actually catch him doing it, it both scares me and fascinates me.
• Crazy Wedding Bitch
• I am planning a wedding with Andrew even though we aren't engaged. Yet.
• Lucy Can't be Kept Indoors Alone
• Want to see photos of destroyed objects strewn across my living room floor? Well, you're a bitch.
• Love Story
• Mainly pre-blog stories of Andrew and I's relationship. Many involve me being embarrassed and/or crying.

So, can I expect a bracelet?

I'm Pretty Sure Andrew is just a Child with Werner Syndrome.

You know, like the kid/Robin Williams in the movie Jack, who grows up 4 times faster biologically than he does chronologically.


Imagine the giant kid in the middle, but wearing all camo.
That's basically Andrew.

Not that I'm wishing a most likely devastating disease on him or anything. Cause then I'd be a major bitch.

Sidenote: I may be a regular bitch, but I don't consider myself to be a major one. That title is reserved for people who go through the Express Checkout Lane with over 20 items in their cart, people who don't like puppies and those who say they love your outfit but then say to someone else that its ugly. If it was so hideous, you should have told me to put it through a shreder to my face. (Please comment below to suggest other defining features of a major bitch.)

Plus a purple one.

Now, the reason why I think Andrew is secretly a child in disguise: it was 11pm and Andrew came into the living room with three freezies. Nevermind that tonight was Canadian Thanksgiving and he had a ridiculous amount of food to eat, it was freezie time!

Then 15 minutes later, I find him sitting on the couch with a package of Teddy Grahams, playing the "Can you Spot the Differences?" game on the back of the box while sharing his snack with Lucy. He was quite proud that he spotted all six differences until I told him that the game was made for a 7 year old.

I was surprised he didn't have a juice box as well, but it turns out he drank the last one this morning.

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.

8 Things to Do When you Can't Sleep

Apparently, even if you're recuperating from surgery, sleeping all day for a week isn't a good thing. Because when you finally go to bed early due to the fact that you need to get back to work in the morning, your brain will be all "HAHA FUCK YOU, BODY! WE'RE GONNA PARTY ALLLLLLLLLLL NIGHT!"

 

During this temporary bout of insomnia, I found various activities that can keep one occupied.

• Find new and strange sleeping positions. Maybe your body just wants to spice up your REM time. So I diverged from my usual Spiderman/Praying Mantis and tried out the Fetal position, the Starfish, the Log (which turned into a Barrel Roll), the Superman, the Donut and the Tango.
• Read a little.
• Do some yoga. Pull our the yoga mat and everything, go all the way! At the end, when you're supposed to thank your body for everything that it does for you, savour the irony of the moment.
• Wake up your significant other; if you're gonna stay up, you might as well have some company. Don't be surprised if your other half isn't impressed.
• Play with your cats until they work themselves up into a killing frenzy, then watch chaos ensue.
• If your boyfriend/girlfriend was a total dick earlier when you woke them up, feel free to throw the bloodthirsty felines on the bed.

She's clearly pretending the camera strap is Andrew's face.

• Take some painkillers.
• Sidenote: Only take painkillers if you actually have some sort of physical pain, such as wisdom teeth removal.

I'm lactose intolerant, so I just downed the tranquilizers straight.

• Eat some Jell-O. Cause hey, you're awake anyways, why not?
• Regardless of how far away the light is, do not attempt to eat the Jell-O in the dark and in bed. You will end up thinking you're all done your snack, only to lay your head down on your pillow and find your face covered in lost Jell-O.
• Think about possible future blog posts, such as "Things to Do When you Can't Sleep".

Eventually, around 3:30am, I managed to fall asleep by laying on the couch, tricking my jerkbrain into thinking that it was a regular nap.