Tip of the Day Concerning Pants

When visiting your in-laws (or almost-in-laws), don't wear jeans you bought when you were in 10th grade. Sure, they may still fit you. Sure, it's nice to know that you haven't gotten any fatter.

But chances are, when you sit down for supper, your 8-year-old pants will rip and essentially disintegrate due to pure age and use. And if this happens to your jeans, there's also an extremely high chance that it'll happen on the butt, thereby exposing half of a cheek to the world.

And if you're really unlucky, you won't even notice that your ass is hanging out of your worn out jeans until someone has to point it out to you.

Tip of the Day: don't wear jeans old-as-duck jeans. Your ass and pride will pay for it.

Sidenote: Yes, I said old-as-duck. I'm basing the life expectancy of my pants to that of a duck, more specifically, that of a mallard.

OMG SCROLL TEXT WITH ABSOLUTELY NO POINT!

I Guess I Should Acknowledge That the Holiday Season is Here...



This weekend, we're attempting to take a family portrait for our annual Christmas Card. We'll either look like gorgeous models, or total trainwrecks. (We never half-ass anything, we go all the way. Except for cleaning attempts: cleaning house is always done half-ass.)

 

Anyways, I just finished decorating my giant-sized wreath (which I love), but now I'm like "Where the fuck am I going to put this ginormous wreath?" So until I find a way to hang the wreath on the side of the house without making holes in the walls, I have to hide the wreath in Andrew's Man-cave. It's got to be put away because the cats seem to have a death wish involving eating as many glitter-covered pine cones and fake holly berries (not to be confused with fake Halle Barrys) as possible. They wouldn't last a day in the wild.

 

Because they're made of plastic, and you'll die.

Sidenote: Sorry there hasn't been any posts this past week. It's like the ridiculously small amount of daylight hours has made me all blah and meh. But I think I'm over that now.

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.

An Open Letter to a Fellow Concertgoer (AKA, It was a Miracle that a Murder Didn't Occur by the End of the Night.)

Dear Woman Who Sat Two Seats Away from me during Last Night's Nylons Concert,

Thank you for enhancing the concert; you really made it a night I’ll never forget.
 

I’d like to start by congratulating your efforts to join the group. They may be an all-male a cappella group, but that didn’t stop you from trying. After everything you did, I'm sure that the Nylons' manager will call you soon with an offer to join to the group. They'll rename it The Nylons and a Pair of Leggings. Cause you're in a category all your own, you special snowflake.

 

The Nylons, also known as "I'm pretty sure 1/2 of them are gay."

 If you were worried that your attempts at fifth-person harmonizing weren’t heard on stage al the way from the balcony (where we were sitting), you can stop being concerned: everyone heard it. It was especially clear during the group’s cover of I’m Yours by Jason Mraz, where your ooohs and aaahs and Hey-ey-ey-AYYYYYY managed to ruin what was once one of my "happy place" songs. Because of you, I now have it filed under "makes me rage like I take a combination of steroids and bath salts" songs.

I also had to marvel at your amazing clapping skills; although everyone was happily clapping to the beat, you decided to show us up by making extremely loud and complex beats like a cheerleader on cocaine.

Hear me clap, hear some more,

Look at me, the attention whore!

 

Were I wearing this shirt with no bra underneath, I would
have ripped it off my bare body and exposed myself to the
world, as long as she promised to wear it to every concert
she ever went to in order to warn other audience members.
Cause I'm a giving person.

I also think you were trying to start a trend with your clapping. Another trend you attempted was getting the audience to wave their hands in the air during especially poignant songs. Even though you didn’t persuade a single person to join in, you kept blocking the view of the spectators behind with your wildly flailing hands for a full two songs. For that perseverance, I applaud you.

 

I would also like to commend you on your incredible focus. It is amazing that you never noticed the dagger-dipped-in-poison-that-will-slowly-melt-your-insides eyes that I gave you every time you managed to be louder than the singers on stage.

 

The rest of the time I looked like this, cause I'm
a polite Canadian. But really, I felt like this...



Your piece the resistance was during the group’s last song, which also happened to be one of their greatest hits, the Lion Sleeps Tonight. While you still continued your clap, clap-clap, clap, clap, clap-clap beat and your harmonizing, you also decided to make a noise that I could only describe as a mixture of Xena the Warrior Princess’ battle cry and a tropical parrot’s trilling. And let's not forget the reverential "wow" you cried out every single time someone hit a high note which, needless to say, was heard every other fucking minute during the Lion Sleeps Tonight.

 

So once again, thank you for making this concert so memorable. I'm sure that my future children and grandchildren will hear stories of you, and how you made me feel.

Love,

Christine.

P.S. I'd stop doing this shit at concerts, before someone bitch slaps you. Bitch. xox

If You're Hating Your Life Today.

Keep in mind that you are not a mattress.

We drove around the block twice so I could get a good picture of him.

Happy Monday!

And This is Why I Don't Take Taxis

This conversation happened today when I had to take a taxi from work to go pick up my car from the garage.

Me: I can't believe you guys have to deal with the horrible drivers in the city every single day. It would drive me crazy!

Taxi Driver: I'm already crazy. 

Me: *laughs* Well, that saves you the trouble then! 

Taxi Driver: *deadpan* I'm not allowed to carry a gun anymore. 

Me:

Oh my God, I'm going to die in this cab.

 Conversation pretty much ended there.

When Did this Happen?

HOLY FUCK, IT'S FUCKING NOVEMBER!

Sorry for the swearing, Tika is a bit lewd and foul-mouthed. She takes after her mother that way.

Seriously, where did the year go? I just got used to 2012!