HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS! (Canine Related)

OH MY DOG!

You know how I've been nagging Andrew to get a second dog (to the point that I gave him a PowerPoint presentation) ?

IT MIGHT HAVE ACTUALLY WORKED!

After dogsitting the Devil, Andrew has mentioned getting a second dog twice. Twice, people.

Everyother day, I email Andrew a dozen ads for puppies and dogs for adoption. Okay, so more like 3-4 ads.  I tend to exagerate, ok?

But last night, we were sitting in the living room when Andrew called for my attention. He was showing me his computer screen, which was displaying this:

It's okay to squeal. I squealed too.

Me: Andrew, don't be such a dick.

Andrew: What? 

Me: Don't be all "Oh, look at the puppies THAT YOU'LL NEVER HAVE!"

Andrew: ... I never said we wouldn't have any...

Me: WE CAN HAVE A PUPPY????

Then I'm pretty sure I danced.

And today, Andrew asked me to go out with him, but I told him I would have to stay at home with Lucy since it was dark outside. Because Lucy is genuinely afraid of being in the dark alone. Its kinda cute but mostly pathetic.
Then Andrew said "Maybe she wouldn't be so scared of the dark if she had a friend to stay home with her."

I thought for a second that he might mean hiring a dog prostitute to keep Lucy company. But then I thought that dog hookers must be pretty rare and therefore expensive, so Andrew probably meant something else.

Me: ARE WE GETTING ANOTHER DOG? 

Andrew: Maybe. Soon. Maybe.

Andrew says he didn't say soon, but I'm pretty sure he did. Because I have a better memory. And I also want to believe that he said soon.

PUPPY PUPPY PUPPY!

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.



An Exciting Night Filled with Chaos and Fire

Last night was quite special. I don't know if something got dumped in the water or if it was a full moon or something but weird shit went on in Dreamland.

Firstly, I dreamt my cat Tika had superpowers (awesome) and that Andrew proposed (actually not a good thing; the dreamring he got me was absolutely hideous), but that was nothing compared to what happened later. I was the tamest one in our room that night.


Squares are furniture. Yes, I sleep in a Spiderman
 position, while Andrew looks like a drowning man.

Let's start with Lucy.



To help with Lucy's story, I've included a horrible (as usual) map of our room. Everyone was peacefully sleeping away, when all of a sudden, Andrew and I woke up to what sounded like a mosh pit in a gift shop. Complete pandemonium. I immediately assumed Super Tika lost control of her flying abilities or her super powerful laser eyes and was destroying the house; my rational thinking may or may not have been functioning at that point.





It turns out Lucy was running full tilt and crashing into everything. Why? I think she might have been sleeprunning. Here's what her trajectory looked like:


Lucy's sleeping warpath.

That shit isn't normal.

She didn't stop crashing into things until Andrew yelled out her name. At that point, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Andrew like "how the hell did I get here?" I then made Andrew take her for a little walk to make sure she didn't have a brain tumor, a seizure or was possessed by the devil. Cause its a well known fact that exercise treats cancer and demonic possession.

Eventually Andrew convinced me that she wouldn't die in the next 48 hours, so we all went back to sleep. The quiet only lasted for about an hour or two.

Andrew started tossing and turning, sounding really stressed/frustrated/upset. He was dreaming again. So I asked him what was wrong, knowing I was probably going to get an interesting answer.

"*mutter mutter* the ankle thingy, before she went in the fire..."

 

 

I was not prepared for that answer. What ankle thingy? Was someone wearing an ankle monitor? Did they have cankles? I don't know what else could be related to ankles. And I won't even take the time to question what the hell is up with some chick going into a fire.

 

After I asked him to elaborate, he seemed to wake up a little, because he looked at me like I was stupid and said "Nevermind." As usual, he has absolutely no recollection of the conversation and unfortunately doesn't remember his dream.

 

Feel free to share your theories on the nature of his dream.

-------------------------------

P.S. I'm still looking for more question to ask Andrew in my Drunk Hick Interview. I've had awesome ones so far, so keep them coming!

Canadian Feature Friday: Kanata - How the Country was named

Here's a quick history of the origin of Canada's name. It's also not 100% accurate. It's probably like 85% accurate. Although the part talking about the Backstreet Boys is totally true.

"I do me, you do you."

The country was named Canada after French explorer Jacques Cartier talked to Iroquois natives who described their land as "kanata". Turns out kanata only means village or settlement, and not "yeah, we're just one native tribe out of hundreds - Micmacs, Inuits, Cree, Hurons, etc. -  spread across the second largest land mass in the world. We all have different languages and we don't have an alphabet, but we still somehow all gathered together to form a Native Empire Committee, which then decided that this giant chunk of land should be called Kanata. We played Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide the winning name." But good ol' JC took it as the latter and started using the word Canada to describe the whole region.

 

Soooo, basically the entire country started on a fuckup. Maybe Jacques was a nice guy and it was all just a huge misunderstanding, or maybe he was just a know-it-all douchebag. I'm thinking he was a douche and was all "Of course I understand these peoples' language! Sure, they may be pointing at a village down the river, but I'm sure it's a metaphor for this giant magical land full of strange animals. I'm cultured."

So once he started calling the area surrounding Quebec City "Canada", everyone started calling all the different parts of Northern North America the same. Cause I guess even if he was a jerk, Jacques Cartier was still a trendsetter. Kinda like Kanye West pre-Kim Kardashian.

Jacques Cartier is apparently such a D-bag that he speaks from his crotch.

Completely True Fact: Jacques Cartier is french for Jack Carter, which means he was Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys' ancestor.

Ok, I made that last fact up.

Now you know.

When Andrew won't String more than Four words in a Row (Also Known as Every Single Day of his Life)

It's been a few months now that I've wanted to interview Andrew for a blog post. With all of things he says and does, I was sure that I'd get some really interesting answers to some of the questions. Unfortunately, I've quickly come to realize that his interview skills are less than up to par.

Interview attempt number one:

Me: Andrew, as a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? 

Andrew: I dunno.

Me: Ok, well, how do you feel about the fact that you may be distantly related to Sarah Palin? (I am not making this shit up.)

Andrew: *shrugs*

Suffice to say, the interview was about as successful as my attempt to eat as much sugar as possible after Lent.

I've tried to ask him poignant/ridiculous questions a few times since then, but I've only received shrugs, monosyllabic replies, and the ever popular "I dunno". So I began brainstorming ways I could make him more talkative.

 "A bird may love a fish, signore, but where will they live?"
"Then I shall have to make you wings." Sucker gets me
every time.

1. Using hand puppets. Must save hand puppet communication for serious relationship issues, like geting Andrew to play Rockband.
2. Pretend to be a scary ghost that will haunt him eternally unless he answers a few simple questions. I'd probably accidentally scare myself instead.
3. Torture him into speaking. Will have to research jail sentence for torture.
4. Threaten that if he doesn't answer the questions, we'll watch Ever After over and over again every night for a week. He'll just go hunting every night instead.
5. Get him drunk. Yep, that'll work.

Yes, my current plan is to feed him liquor until he starts rambling. He can't argue with the plan because he lacks the ability to turn down a beer and it'll be the only time he can drink without hearing me say "Andrew, two beers a night makes you an alcoholic. YOU NEED TREATMENT OR YOU'LL GET LIVER FAILURE!" every five seconds.

So, with a plan in mind, I would like your help in finding questions to ask him during the interview. Examples of possible topics include his hickness, beer, his constant delay in proposing to me (even though I'm clearly awesome), hunting and why he doesn't consider taxidermy to be creepy as fuck.

Please refrain from asking questions pertaining to current events (since he lives under a rock), unless asking about country music, Ice Road Truckers, or Gwyneth Paltrow .


The only woman that could possibly come between us.
That is, if she suddenly left her husband and developped
a love for young, Canadian hicks. Possibility of
occurence: 0.5%. Andrew says the chance is still there.

Ready, set, ASK AWAY! :)