Author: Mrs. Completely

Talk To My Back, Lady!

We tempted the Gawds with a road trip across provincial lines during the time of Plague.  And while the Gawds couldn’t be bothered with our trivial rebellion, Teddy had a differing opinion.

It’s The Viking’s fault, really.  He’s always wheeling and dealing, trading this thing for that thing.  I can’t keep up.  He is perpetually in the midst of several complicated barter agreements with shadowy people I may or may not know.  And it was one of these transactions, which involved a generator, some sundry motorcycle parts for the seller of said generator and $500.  Now that Weather has decided to indulge in Spring, The Viking wants to get Generator installed in Fifth Wheel Trailer in the slight hope that we might be able to take it camping this summer.

So, we got our shit together – hand sanitizer, disinfectant in a spray bottle, toilet paper*, and non-alcoholic (sadly) drinks.  It was 4 hours to get there, probably an hour waiting/chatting (with 6-foot social distancing of course), and another 4 hours back.  We’d be home for dinner.

And we were.  Right on time.  Izzie shouted** greetings at us but Teddy was nowhere to be seen.  I didn’t think about it much because he’s not the ‘rush-to-the-door’ kind of guy; he prefers to strike a dignified pose by the refrigerator and give me a chin nod and ‘love eyes’.  I just assumed he didn’t hear us come home and would show up on time for dinner.

That didn’t happen though.  The Viking quizzed Izzie….

“Where the fuck is Teddy?”

“Who cares?” was her response, and then, “I notice you haven’t fed me yet.  Tick, Tock!”

While The Viking was dishing out food, I called for Teddy.  “Suppertime, Teddy!”  That’s usually enough because food is extremely important after the year he spent living on the mean streets of Homelessness.

Eventually he wandered close to the back door, studiously refusing to look at me.  “Are you coming in?”  He just sat there looking at the neighbour’s house.  “Okay, fine!  I’m not standing here all night holding the door open.”

I still didn’t realize that Teddy was angry.  It was 3 hours later, when he sat down in the middle of the livingroom without looking at me that everything started to click into place.  His customary entrance in the evening is a chubby trot followed by a full body slam into my lap.

“Are you mad at me, Teddy?”  To be honest, I was a little shocked.  We named him Teddy Bear because that’s exactly what he is.  He’s sweet and gentle and lovey.  He’s the best cat on the planet.  Except for an itty-bitty, teeny-weeny streak of stubborn.

His answer was to deliberately turn his back on me.

I probably didn’t help matters when I started to laugh, but in my defense I’ve never seen him angry before.  “Oh, come on, Teddy Bear!  You can’t be mad at me.”  And yet, he was.

My previous cat would get angry with me but all it took was a cuddle and she couldn’t help herself but forgive me.   Apparently, Teddy is made of sterner stuff.

“We were only gone for 8 hours and 25 minutes!  You can’t be mad about that!”

……

“Seriously?  You aren’t going to talk to me because I was gone for a few hours?”

……

I picked him up and tried to give him a love.  He actually braced his front feet against my boobs and strained his head and shoulders away from me!!  “Oh, come on!  I’m sorry!”

……

I appealed to The Viking.  “He’s mad!  At me!”  The Viking was totally unhelpful and, most likely, secretly amused because the cats never blame me for anything – he’s always the ‘Fall Guy’.  As soon as I put Teddy down, he turned his back on me again but didn’t leave the room.  I suppose this was his version of a ‘lecture’ since I couldn’t help but see him with his back turned, full of indignation.

“It’s not even my fault!  It’s The Viking’s fault!  He was the one that bartered himself into a road trip and forced me to go along.”

……

“I wanted to stay home.  With you.”

……

“I would have cuddled you all day long, but The Viking said it was more important for me to keep him company.”

……

“Honestly!  I cried all the way to Longview!”

……

“He tied me up so I couldn’t get away!”

……

“I was a hostage!”

……

“You’re going to hold a grudge against a Victim?!”

……

Sheesh!  You would think I had pinched his Airmiles Card!

He didn’t look directly at me for the entire evening.  Not a single ‘love eye’ or brush against my leg.  The Viking, on the other hand, was the surprised recipient of many ‘love eyes’ and even a body slam to his lap accompanied by deafening purrs.

I’m not sure who wanted me to notice more – the angry cat or the pleasantly surprised Viking.

 

*I decided to rely on rest area pit toilets and severe liquid rationing to limit my contact with any Plague Carriers.

**Shouting is her permanent speaking tone, with or without swearing and name-calling.

Enemy At the Cat Door

The Viking installed a Cat Door – a move to save my sanity as two cats badgered me relentlessly to open and close the door 179 times a day.  Overall, it’s been a mixed blessing.  The first couple weeks were wonderful as they came and went as they pleased.  Teddy was so happy with the arrangement he felt the need to bring me gifts:  a live bird, a live mouse, a dead mouse, a half-eaten dead mouse, another live bird, a dead bird, and a half-eaten dead bird.

After a year of gifting and slaughter, I have finally convinced both Teddy and Izzie that wildlife is not allowed in the house – dead or alive.  I am proud of them for their hunting prowess, but please leave all gifts on the back step where I can fully appreciate them without stepping on cadavers in the middle of the night as I stumble to pee.

I thought that was the end of negatives issues regarding the Cat Door but this morning I was proven wrong.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly on our eastern-facing back door/cat door.  I was just happy to see the sun and didn’t realize there was a problem until I heard hissing.  Izzie hissing, to be exact.  I had my back to her and the door, checking Face Book, so turned around to see what was going on.

Izzie was staring hard at the Cat Door.  And there, just at the very bottom of the cat door, I saw two pointy shadows that I soon realized were Cat Ears slowly moving upwards.

Holy Shit!  There’s an Enemy at the Cat Door!! 

Then, because he must have heard Izzie hissing, Teddy came creeping through the kitchen, watching the cat door.

I sat down between the cats, in front of the cat door.

We sat in silence, watching the Cat Ear shadow rise and lower several times.  And then we had a discussion because this was a crisis that needed to be given careful consideration.

There was little doubt that the cat sitting on the other side of the Cat Door was Slinky – the crazy cat from next door.  Even his owners call him batshit crazy.

Once we decided who we were dealing with, we now considered what actions needed to be taken.  And action definitely needed to be taken or Slinky might misconstrue our lack of response as weakness and launch an invasion right into our home!

Cat Ear Shadow slowly rises.

I could beat on the door and scare Slinky away and hope he would never come back, but Slinky is crazy and who knows what goes on in that twisted mind.  Teddy and Izzie voted against that action anyway as it had a taint of cowardice in the face of aggression at our sovereign Cat Door.

Cat Ear shadow slowly lowered.

Or, we could wait until Slinky poked his head through the flap.  The physics of the Cat Door means that once you embark on a passage through the flap, you can’t change your mind, you’re fully committed.  If you try to back up, the flap lodges behind your head and effectively traps you.  Izzie liked the sound of that immediately.  Teddy, on the other hand, thought we might be flirting with Un-Sportsman-like Conduct and that’s not something to be taken lightly.  So the whole option was turfed before we even discussed what to do with the head once it was trapped – whether we spray it with the water bottle or mock it for not understanding the science involved in Cat Doors.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

At this point, Teddy wondered if someone should go wake up The Viking.  This is kind of his area of expertise, is it not?  There’s nothing quite as terrifying as Vikings in the morning – just ask the Monks at Lindesfarne.  Teddy and I are peaceful Hippies, ill-equipped to deal with aggression, while Izzie is only mean from a distance when it comes to other cats and prefers name-calling and cursing rather than physical violence.  Unless……someone else is doing the violence, like a Viking that’s cranky for being woken up because our perimeters have been breached…..and then she’s all in.  With PomPoms.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

I thought we should entertain less violent options before we bring in the big gun.

Cat Ear shadow rises.

We could just let Izzie shout derogatory insults – her specialty – through the Cat Door while Teddy and I cheer from the sidelines and hope Slinky doesn’t call our collective bluff.  Teddy asked if that was just a little too close to Bullying?  Fair question.  We don’t want that ugly reputation to stick; Izzie already has a reputation as a Home Invasion Expert and a prolific Car Jacker so we don’t really need more notoriety.

Cat Ear shadow lowers.

We considered barking madly like an insane Mastiff but neither cat wanted to stoop that low.  Because they have standards.  Unlike this turncoat….

By now we were beginning to entertain increasingly implausible defensive actions.  No one had a slingshot or a fishing net and, of course, I’m not allowed to have a Flame Thrower.  We were running out of options.  In the end, I was out-voted.  ME!  Without the slightest pang of conscience, both cats volunteered me to take one for the team.  I was to be sacrificed to the crazy hell that is Slinky.  And while I was arguing against the decision with all the fervor of Atticus Finch…….

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

As one, we turned our heads toward The Viking, standing there in his underpants holding a pair of socks.  We started explaining the crisis…..

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”  He whipped the back door open.

Apparently, Slinky either got tired of listening to our evil plans…..or…..got bored and went home.

 

Gritty Determination

It was my birthday on April 2nd.  It’s worth noting that I missed being an official Fool by 6 hours.  It was a close call, but I planted my tiny feet on either side of the cervix and clung to the walls of the womb with nothing short of gritty determination despite Mom’s resolve to terminate my lease.  Apparently, I was over-due and some evil individual told her that drinking Cod Liver Oil would induce labour.  In my opinion, it was a terrible suggestion even if it was effective.  As a result, I developed a lifelong dislike of any fish that tastes like fish before I even vacated the womb.  Also, had it not been for that meddling Do-Gooder, I could have hung in there for an additional 2 or 3 days for a Larger-Than-6-Hour April’s Fool Buffer Zone.  Mom has been refusing to name the Meddling Do-Gooder in some misguided attempt to protect their privacy for 56 years now.

Anyway, moving on.

There is an issue in our household regarding Birthday Gifts.  Actually, it’s any gift when it comes right down to it – Christmas, Easter, Valentine’s Day, etc. because The Viking is The Most Difficult Person To Buy A Gift For On The Entire Planet!  And that’s a problem.  His closet is full of gift clothing that he never wears.  He has 4 different pairs of slippers.  I can’t buy him tools because he has every single tool ever invented and if he doesn’t already own it, it’s junk.  Princess Auto doesn’t have Gift Cards.  He doesn’t like steering wheel covers or other vehicular accessories.  I bought him a bathrobe in 2008 and that has been the only successful gift I’ve ever managed, and he isn’t likely to wear it out any time in the near or distant future because when I buy a bathrobe, I buy a good one.  And there comes a time when Nipple Tassels, a tiara, and a Kazoo aren’t a surprise anymore.

So, I’ve declared our household a Gift Free Zone.  I hate getting a gift when I can’t give one.  Nothing makes me feel worse than the inability to reciprocate.  Therefore, I don’t want any gifts.  Instead, I try to do nice things for him and make his favorite foods.  It’s lame and unsatisfying but I do what I can.

The kicker, of course, is that The Viking doesn’t play by the rules.  Ever.  I start daily instructions a full month in advance of any gift-giving occasion.  “DON’T BUY ME ANYTHING!!  I’M SERIOUS!  IF YOU BUY ME ANYTHING I’M GOING TO THROW IT IN THE GARBAGE!”  He promises sincerely but we both know by now that he doesn’t follow instructions very well.

This year I thought we had finally come to an understanding.  He got up early, made coffee and headed for the store.  There were flowers* and the sweetest Birthday card ever.  He treated me like a Queen all day long.  By the time we went to bed and no gift had shown up I was a happy lady.

Until last week when a parcel arrived at the front door.  We get packages all the time for the business, so I handed it over to The Viking without looking at it.

“That’s not for me.  It’s for you.”

Me:  WHAT?!

Him:  It’s for you.

Me:  Impossible.  I haven’t ordered anything.

Him:  It’s still for you.

Me (squinting and scowling ferociously):  What have you done?!

Him (shrugging):  …..

Me:  You promised!!

Him:  Whatever.  Open it.

Me:  I’m not finished threatening to hit you with the box yet.  Give me at least another 13 minutes.

You know, sometimes I don’t think The Viking takes my threats seriously enough.  I put in a great amount of time and effort manufacturing the most menacing and intimidating threats possible, so would it kill him to at least act a little scared?  Honestly!  I act terrified when he utters threats in my direction, it’s just good sportsmanship to extend the same courtesy.

So, I opened it.  And it was a fucking Tablet!!  A brand-new fucking Tablet!!  Not even a Refurbished Tablet!  It’s a total Virgin!  Geezus!!  I already have a tablet.  It’s broken at the moment because I dropped it one too many times, but The Viking ordered new switches for it – they were the wrong size, but he was just going to order the right switches this time.  Had the package contained only switches I would have graciously accepted them as a Birthday gift because they only cost $3.00.  A new Tablet is stepping waaaay over the line.  Bastard.

And now I have a new Tablet that I secretly love but feel terrible about loving because I haven’t been able to give The Viking anything that he loves so much he feels terrible about receiving.

It’s a trial.  Sigh.

*I deserve flowers again!  WooHoo!!

Apocalypse Now?

I just got home from the grocery store and I have to say….it was a very civil experience.  I wasn’t expecting that.  I was expecting to be cursing and crying and desperately howling at the Gods to deliver me from the madness!  I thought I would be walking into a dystopian landscape of sirens and smoke and empty, blood-smeared shelves and SWAT Teams patrolling the hazy aisles.  I imagined traumatized families huddled in corners defending the last can of Ravioli with limp English Cucumbers and 4-day-old raisin scones*.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed in The Viking for letting me walk into such a horrific situation on my own.  Given what I was expecting I thought I was being brave as hell for suggesting that I should leave the safety of our house to find food.  Surely he wouldn’t let me face the apocalypse alone.  He’s a damned Viking!  Born and bred through 1200 years of natural selection in preparation for Ragnarök which, can be argued, has maybe just arrived.

But that’s exactly what he did – despite watching hundreds of videos online of people almost eating each other to get their hands on the last roll of toilet paper!  Maybe he thought I was just Bad Ass enough to handle it on my own but how he could arrive at that conclusion is a little baffling given that he won’t let me have a Flame Thrower for “safety reasons” but if ever I needed a Flame Thrower it would definitely be right now.

I lingered at the door for a moment.  “Okay…..well…..I’m leaving now.”  He waved a distracted hand at me without turning from the computer screen.  He was probably watching one of those bloody videos!

“Alone.”

“Uh huh.”

“Who knows what I’ll find out there.”

“Yup.”

“So……I don’t know if I’ll make it home……”

“Take your time.”

“No matter what happens……I’ll always love you.”  Heavy sigh.

“Okay.”  Waves again.

So, fine!  I went alone.  I thought the parking lot would be chaos, with cars idling willy-nilly, doors open, crying infants in car seats.  Horns honking and fists waving.  Maybe a handgun or a machete.  But, nope!  There was even a Handicap space for me!  Once inside, everything was business as usual!

There wasn’t a single white/red potato anywhere though – lucky I like Yams.  Plenty of bottled sparkling water – I can let the Brita gather dust for a while longer.  Meat department was well stocked – thank Gawd!  I thought I might have to look at a legume.

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There were tons of eggs.  The fridge display was full of dairy.  Of course, there was no toilet paper, but I’ve got enough for quite a while anyway.

There was one anomaly though – Men.  And there were two distinct groups of men.

  1. Young-ish men who have been in training for the past decade for the imminent Zombie Apocalypse. These guys were mostly alone so I can only guess that they were sent by their wives/girlfriends for a fun couple of hours of zombie-killing-adventure in which they would find, retrieve and bring home food.
  2. Old-ish men who accompanied every middle-aged/elderly woman, except me of course. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my expectations of mayhem.  I’m pretty sure all these women were expecting to need some muscle for elbowing their way through a press of sweaty, angry people who may or may not want to rip your arm off for the last can of evaporated milk because the local news has been televising shocking videos.

I’m not sure how much help these old guys were going to provide because they certainly weren’t Vikings.** At least I didn’t think they were Vikings, they definitely weren’t very impressive, but who knows?  Maybe they were all old, retired Vikings hoping to intimidate with glares and gnarly teeth rather than resorting to throwing axes.  And it was very obvious that not a single one of them were in the store by choice.

On a side note:  My Ex was a perfectly healthy, robust male in his early 30s with lots of energy and stamina……until we walked into a store……any store that didn’t involve aircraft and all related items.  As soon as we walked in, his arches suddenly collapsed, and his back started to spasm and he felt nauseous and light-headed and thought he might faint at any moment.  He got heart palpitations and clawed at his shirt while he hyperventilated.  Pink Eye developed in both eyes.  Simultaneously.  He broke out in Hives and a fever.  He kept asking fellow shoppers if they smelled burnt toast and if that was a sign of an imminent stroke?  He clung to the side of the cart with white knuckles like he was about to fall off the 18th floor of Airplanes ‘R’ Us, forming the words ‘Help Me!’ to every other man he saw, extending a blistered arm in supplication for rescue.   The longer I took to acquire the things I needed, the closer he got to death.

I mention this now because many, many of the men in Safeway were exhibiting some of the same ailments the Ex complained about.  One even brought his own Oxygen tank!

Anyhoo, my point here is that people are a little jittery.  Uncertain.  Well, not The Viking, obviously, because he’ll send me out to face the hounds of hell on my own, but most people in the grocery store opted to face the suspected challenges in pairs, probably believing that two would stand a better chance of scoring a can of corn than one.

Of course, it was completely unnecessary as it turned out because everyone was wonderful and kind and thoughtful.  There wasn’t a single example of wrestling and cursing in either the parking lot or store.  I was kind of proud of my fellow Calgarians.  We seem to be at our best when the times are the worst.

And even though The Viking’s presence wasn’t technically needed, he didn’t know that for sure when I was leaving the house.  For all he knew, I could be walking into the Zombie Apocalypse without a Flame Thrower.  So……huge disappointment…………..and he may have to answer some hard questions when he shows up at the gates of Valhalla because I am totally telling on him.

 

*the only thing left in the bakery department because raisins are an under-appreciated food

**Unlike my husband who couldn’t be bothered to show up for Ragnarök, sending his wife instead which, I believe, is a serious violation of some kind of Valhalla Code or something isn’t it?

The Rumblings of Viking Discontent

I don’t really like cooking all that much anymore.  Once was a time when I would chef the hell out of my kitchen, but after 35 years of slinging food, I’ve lost my enthusiasm.  That doesn’t mean I’m not still slinging food, it just means that I’m cranky while I do it.  When The Viking finds me laying on the kitchen floor begging for death to take me now so I don’t have to figure out what the hell to make for dinner for the 5th day this week, he doesn’t need to ask questions.

As luck would have it though, he loves cooking!  Give him a bottle of red wine and a Danish radio station and he’s the happiest damned Viking on the planet.  So, on Saturdays, if he doesn’t have to work in the garage, he makes me dinner.  And he goes shopping for the ingredients, too!

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Unfortunately, last Saturday there was an issue.  It all began when I lost my Airmiles card a couple of weeks ago.  A cashier at Safeway must have forgotten to hand it back to me when I bought groceries and I was, undoubtedly, cranky because I would now have to cook all the crap I just bought and that’s my excuse for failing to reacquire the card.  It wasn’t until my next trip to buy food that I realized it was missing because that’s about the only place I use it.

Anyhoo, I took The Viking’s card to use until my new one arrived.  And that brings us right up to Saturday when he went shopping for the big feast he was making for me.  I happily sat at the computer listening to a documentary and playing solitaire while he was gone.  At one point I thought I heard thunder in the distance but that was impossible because it’s winter.

And then The Viking arrived home.

“Where the fuck is my Airmiles card?!!”

Me:  Oh, I have it because I lost mine somewhere but I’ve ordered a new one.

Him:  Well that’s fucking great!  I stood there looking like a stupid, dumb Fuck, going through my entire wallet searching for my fucking card while 3000 people were waiting behind me!

Me:  Ummm……sorry?

Him:  I was going through the whole store, picking up deals that would give me extra Airmiles!!

Me:  ……

Him:  The cashier was getting all pissed off!  What am I supposed to do?!!  I felt like a fucking dumb fuck!

Me:  ……

Him:  I almost walked away and left it all right there!  I’m so pissed off right now!  I have all these stupid, fucking groceries and NO AIRMILES!!

Me:  ……

He stomped out to bring more stuff into the house, muttering.

Him:  ….so bad if you at least told me you had my card!!  You should have put it back in my wallet when you were finished with it.

Me:  To be fair, I use the card more often than you do and it seemed the better use of the Airmiles card for me to…..

Him:  I MISSED OUT ON 14 MILLION AIRMILES!

Me:  Okaaay.  Since we’re talking about such a tremendous number of miles, it’s clear I made a huge mistake…..

He stomped out again to bring the remainder of his shopping treasures.

Him:  If I had known you were going to fuck me over I never would have bought you these fucking flowers because you certainly don’t deserve them!

Me:  Awwww….you bought me flowers!

Him:  YOU DON’T DESERVE THEM!

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And then I couldn’t help myself.  I started to laugh.  And I couldn’t stop!  He was just so indignant that I “fucked him over” by pinching his Airmiles card.  Tears in my eyes, laughing so hard.  And then I understood that the thunder I thought I heard wasn’t thunder at all but most likely the rumblings of Viking discontent from 4 kilometers away.

In the 12 ½ years I’ve known The Viking, I have never not deserved flowers.  Who knew that pinching his Airmiles card was the hard-line in floral deservedness?

    • I accidentally bleached most of his laundry so he had to wear ridiculous clothes for 3 years until they wore out.
    • I mashed the potatoes when we were serving a Danish Pork Roast to my parents, totally destroying the entire meal.
    • I drove his truck across wet paint when highway workers were painting the centre lines.
    • I smashed his Seadoo onto a big pile of rocks.
    • I forgot to buy his Lottery tickets and we probably would have won a Billion dollars in that draw.
    • ETC.

The list of my sins is lengthy and yet I’ve always deserved flowers.  Until last Saturday.  The good news is that The Viking doesn’t hold grudges against me.  Don’t get me wrong, he’ll hold grudges against anyone else on the planet, just not me.  Because I’m special.

And as impressive as him losing his shit is, it’s not quite as epic as me losing my shit when he forgot to buy Fresca 2 years ago and he laughed his Danishy ass off, right in my face.

So, there is that.

I Just Broke Facebook AND Amazon

WARNING:  If you are slightly inhibited or hate the word ‘Dildo’ you probably shouldn’t read beyond this point.  Seriously.

Yes, I did break Facebook and Amazon and it was easier than you might believe.  Maybe not your Facebook and Amazon, but I definitely broke mine.  For 3 days.

It started about 2 weeks ago.

I accidentally dropped my tablet.  Again.  And yes, The Viking did say, “What the fuck is with you and that fucking tablet?  Do I need to tie it around your neck?”  Whatever.  I have no more control of my hands than he does.

Anyway, he had managed to fix it the last time I dropped it so I was fairly optimistic that he could save it again.  Except I dropped it harder this time, apparently, because it broke harder.  It requires a new thingamajig that can only come from Hong Kong and it’s so tiny that The Viking needs to buy a special magnifier doohickey so he can see what the hell he’s doing.  I’ve prepared surgical tongs and sweat-absorbing sponges for mopping his brow, I cobbled together an operating theatre with extra-bright lights and I’ve picked the perfect, calming, Elevator Music to hum softly while he operates.

I like to be helpful – it’s the least I can do under the circumstances.

Now, where was I?  Oh!  For a week after the search for the thingamajig, Facebook plastered Amazon ads for every conceivable type of computer-y thingamabobbit, in every conceivable colour, on my newsfeed.

As luck would have it though, the microwave decided to quit working last week and The Viking worked feverishly to find the replacement doodad on Ebay.

For the entire next week, Facebook plastered Amazon ads for every conceivable type of microwave-y gizmo, in every conceivable colour, on my feed.

Every 4th post was an Amazon ad!  And not very interesting ads either.  How many thingamabobbits and gizmos does one household need?  I finally decided that if I have to look at Amazon ads they should at least be interesting.

So I Googled ‘Massive Dildos’*.

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My hope was that my Facebook feed would erupt into every conceivable kind of Massive Dildo, in every conceivable colour.  And since this computer doubles as a Business Computer, I was hoping for interesting conversations when a customer walked through the door and saw my 27-inch monitor covered in Massive Dildos**.

That didn’t happen though.  Facebook’s Amazon ads went dark.  Not a single ad.  For three days.  I assumed every algorithm on Facebook was in the process of melting down as Amazon threw 1,349,456 Dildo ads at it.  And it probably isn’t easy for an algorithm to figure out that a Statue of Liberty ‘shaped’ Dildo is different than a souvenier-sized, child-appropriate Statue of Liberty or any other tourist-y symbol that might be construed as slightly Dildo-ish in appearance, for that matter.***

So, I enjoyed ad-free browsing for a full 3 days.

But then, on the morning of the 4th day, Facebook returned with a Blitzkrieg of ads…….for every conceivable type of microwave-y/computer-y gizmo, in every conceivable colour, on my feed.  In a brilliant time-travel-y maneuver, Facebook decided to ignore all the Dildos and Dildo-related products, and pretend it never happened, that it was all just a very bad dream and Thank Gawd it’s all over now.

I have to say that I’m terribly disappointed with Facebook.  Who is Mark Zuckerberg to decide whether I can or can’t view Dildo ads on my feed?  Amazon didn’t censor their email marketing based on my recent Dildo research – in fact, I know much more about Dildos than I ever thought I should.

Here’s the thing though…..I’m now trying to resist the urge to see exactly where Facebook draws the line.  Blow-up sex dolls?  Tittie rings?  It’s like Zuckerberg doesn’t know me at all!

Or maybe he does.  Maybe he knows that The Viking knows me well enough and will only tolerate me playing in the dark depths of Amazon’s sex toy inventory for no more than a week, at best, because I have other things to do for fuck’s sake!  Zuckerberg just has to endure my research experiments until The Viking pulls the plug.

Ummm……Buttplug?  ****

* Yes, I’m aware that I could have Googled something less controversial and just as interesting but I’ve now discovered that my brain’s default setting is, apparently, the same as a 13-year-old boy.  I blame this on The Viking.

**It pays to sleep with your Boss because he just laughed when I told him about my newest ambition.

***I don’t think Mt. Rushmore would make a good Dildo unless it was stuck on the bottom like a pair of balls, but the Paramount Pictures lady is certainly an option for business-minded individuals.

****I’m probably going to have to break something in the house so Amazon will stop being so helpful because I’ve now lost all interest in Dildos and Dildo related products.

 

 

My Headlights Are On!

Sunday morning, Furnace decided it was done keeping us warm.  No explanation for abandoning us in the middle of winter.  No notice.  Perhaps it was overwhelmed with the recent cold snap when it had to step up its game, or maybe it was totally out of patience with our lack of appreciation for all the hard work it does.  It wouldn’t even answer The Viking’s “What the fuck is your problem?”

After some cursing and swearing, it turned out that the Ignitor developed what can only be described as a Hernia.  On a Sunday.  When all Heating/Cooling Professionals and Parts Suppliers are taking a day off for obviously selfish reasons.

The Viking had turned the heat up to 20°C when he got up in the morning, but he was still freezing at noon.  “It’s fucking freezing in here!!”

via GIPHY

That’s when I noticed that his headlights were on!  So I checked my headlights and yup! they were on too. The high beams!  That’s a collection of four headlights where 3 of the 4 agreed that it was freezing in the house.  That 4th one* has always been a petty bastard and thought ‘freezing’ was a little dramatic and insisted it was only ‘frigid’.

I hollered at The Viking, “Geezus!  It’s only 16.5°C in here!  It’s no wonder our collection of headlights are on.”

The Viking sprang into action…..okay, it was more trudging than springing but still, he went to have a conversation with Furnace who, it turned out, had no intention of cooperating.  There was poking and prodding and muttered incantations and twice a, “Izzie!  Get the fuck off my neck!”

Having exhausted all avenues to repair Furnace’s hernia, The Viking began constructing a detailed Survival Plan for the night because the only way to get him to call an actual Repair Person is to hook up booster cables to his left headlight and the car to the right headlight (or is it the other way around?  I can never remember) and zap him into reasonableness.

I took a moment to have a discussion with Furnace, explaining that I was very disappointed in its commitment, performance and lack of determination.  It didn’t change anything, but I felt better for firmly voicing my feelings.  We turned on the electric fireplace in the living room and The Viking fetched a space heater from the shed.

In the meantime, I turned my heated mattress cover to the ‘Fry’ setting and made a sad face at The Viking because he doesn’t have one.  The reason he doesn’t have one is that he can feel the wires, through the padding and sheet, and it irritates his delicate ass skin.  This, from the guy who routinely tapes gaping wounds closed with Duct Tape.  Who knew the original version of The Princess and the Pea was actually a Viking and a wire?

Rather than brave the bedroom that might get a bit cold overnight, he took his pillow and duvet and built a nest on the sofa, close to the fireplace.

I slept great.  The Viking?  Not so much.  Amazingly, the fireplace and space heater kept the house at about 17°C all night long.

I set off first thing in the morning to pick up an Ignitor and The Viking had Furnace up and running again before noon.  Of course, you don’t let the entire household down in the middle of winter and think there won’t be some name-calling, Furnace.  And you got off easy if you ask me.

And, thankfully, our collection of Headlights have calmed down.  It gets awkward with customers when my High Beams could poke out an eye.

*Unsurprisingly, it is my left headlight.

Vengeance and Mayhem

Neighbourhood patrol.  Again.  I’m not in the best of moods because Mom is spitefully refusing to fix the weather and my feet are cold.  And why am I the one responsible for keeping the neighbourhood safe?  What would happen if I decided I didn’t feel like doing it anymore?  Rabbits!  That’s what would happen if I got lazy; the entire place would be overrun with rodents with ridiculous ears.  And the rabbits around here aren’t cute little bundles of soft fur.  No, around here we get Jack Rabbits that are only slightly prettier than Golum and about the same size!

What did these people do before I moved here?  It was a mess, I’m sure of that!  There had better be some treats when I get home and a pair of warm boobs to lay on.

Hey!  Don’t honk your horn at me, Buddy!  Just for that, I’m going to walk slowly while giving you the stink eye the entire time I’m crossing the street.  Dick.

Taunting the dogs across the alley – check

Walking on Floyd’s new car – check

Bullying the Bichon – check

Pooping in Mark’s garden – check

Dot’s yard is good, Marcel’s is okay but could really use some shoveling (aren’t my feet cold enough, Marcel?), Anne’s place is very tidy – I like it.

Hummm…..that’s a new smell.  I don’t usually check this yard, but I should find out what smells so delicious.  Well, will you look at that!  Chicken!  I love chicken.  Thank you very much Homeowner.

WHAT THE FUCK?!!  It’s a trap!  Let me out!  I am not liking this at all.  Ohhhh, whoever did this………just wait until I get out!  You are going to have my poop in your garden for the rest of your life!  That’s right.  I’m going to stop pooping in Mark’s garden and come here instead and the poops will be huge and smelly!  And every time I decide to fight with another cat it will happen right under your bedroom window in the middle of the night and I’m a screamer.  As a matter of fact, I think I’ll set up a Fight Club right here and invite every cat in the province!  I’m going to scare your children and mock your dogs!  I will pee on your car and every child’s toy you leave outside.  And you don’t even want to know what I’m going to do to that sandbox!  It will be disgusting and involve a lot of Hairballs!

LET ME OUT!!

LET ME OUT!!

LET ME OUT!!

Well, it’s about damned time, Mister!  Open this fucking door right now!  No…don’t touch me!  No touchy!  Stop…..Geezus!!  You’re not allowed to touch me!  Put me down!  That’s my Lady Parts!  Hashtag MeToo!!

Oh!  You want to see my collar tag?  Why didn’t you say that to begin with?  Yes, I’m Izzie and yes, that’s my phone number.  Call my Mom.  She is soooo going to fuck you up, Mister!  You have no idea what she is capable of – I’m her Princess.  You should start running right now.  She can make a Viking cry, so just imagine what she will do to you!

Hey!!  What the hell?  I don’t want to be in your garage.  Just let me go.  Seriously, dude, I promise I won’t say a thing.  No one will ever know you trapped me in a Cat Trap.  I am great at keeping secrets.  Honestly!  I’ve never told anyone Teddy’s deepest secret and if there is a secret that should be told, it’s what Teddy wants to do with his stuffed alligator toy.  Please, I promise I won’t poop in your garden.  I was just blowing off steam, I didn’t mean any of it.  No, wait!  Come back!

……

……

……

……

Is this how my life ends?  In a dark, smelly garage, alone and unloved?  Forgotten by humanity?  I wasn’t done living yet.  So many things I still wanted to do.  I wonder if Mom and The Viking will miss me?  Sure, I’m a pain in the ass, but I’m adorable, too.  And Teddy….who’s going to bully him?  Without me, he’ll relax and become fat and lazy.  He’ll sleep with Mom every night.  I can’t believe this is my end – it’s so boring.  I wanted to go out with a bang, something memorable like taking Hostages in an armed standoff, something every cat will tell stories about.  I wanted to become a Legend!

What was that?  Is that Mom?  Wishful thinking?  Am I saved?  I’m not taking any chances – my Lady Parts are still uncomfortable.  I’m hiding in case it’s a ruse for another round of Pattycake.

IT IS MOM!!

Mom!!  I’m coming Mom!!  You won’t believe what happened!  This guy….he has a Cat Trap and he caught me!  I’m so happy to see you.  I love you so much.

Pick me up so I can give him the stink eye.  I told him you would fuck him up,  so go ahead.   Hit him!!  Just smack him one!  Right in the lips.  Or the throat!  Yeah….the throat!  I want to see him writhe in pain and despair and wish he was never born.  I want to see blood.  Lots and lots of blood.

Why are you being so nice to this Monster?!  You are supposed to avenge my mistreatment, not thank him for calling!  What kind of a Savior are you?!  Geezus!  Where’s The Viking?  He’d smack this guy.  Probably several times.  He understands vengeance, it’s in his DNA.  Mayhem is second nature to him, and I bet he’ll come and open a Can of Whoop Ass on this guy.

What?  We’re just leaving?  Without even cursing him?  That’s the least you could do, you know.  Curse his children at a bare minimum.

Well, shit.  I’m walking home.  No, I don’t want to ride in the car, Traitor.  I’m telling The Viking that you’re useless – he should know what kind of person he’s married too.  Benedict Arnold.

Oh!  And don’t you whisper a word of this to Teddy.  Seriously.  I’ll have to kill him if you do.

Geezus.  What a fucking night!

 

Note:  So…..the family lost their cat and decided to try to catch it with a Cat Trap.  Yes.  A Cat Trap.  I don’t even know where to start with that so I’m just going to let it go.  On the other hand, they did brave life and limb to read Izzie’s tag and give us a call.  Thank Gawd.  Also, this is the best scenario for Izzie’s first – and hopefully last – experience with a Cat Trap.  Generally speaking, Cat Traps are a death sentence to animals caught in them because that’s the main purpose of them.  She’s a smart girl though so maybe she’ll be more suspicious of free food from now on.

She wouldn’t ride in the car, but I rolled the car window down and called her and she followed it all the way home.  She was pretty scared and hasn’t left my side for the past three days, however today, she’s back to bullying Teddy so I think she’s getting over it.

A Bubble of Slightly Hysterical Laughter

I woke up January 2nd to success – I survived the holiday season.  I wasn’t very confident going in, expecting the worst, but it turned out much better than I could have hoped.  Don’t get me wrong, it was grim, but it could have been worse.

This past year has been nothing less than a nightmare for me.  A year in which I was forced to confront my demons, to look at myself with brutal clarity and make decisions I never thought I would have to make or could make.  At first, I was stuck; I didn’t know if I could move forward or if I even wanted too.  There were times I just wanted to quit, when the sum of my past failures were too heavy to carry and the weight of future failures too much to contemplate.  To be completely honest, had there been a handgun in the house I would have used it.  Without a doubt.

With the absence of a handgun, I had to consider my options.  I was caught up in a vicious mantra of “How the FUCK did I get here when this is the exact opposite of what I set out to do?”  Is this what the world’s worst case of Cognitive Dissonance feels like?  I’ve spent more than a decade admitting I’ve made mistakes and trying to correct them, hoping to build bridges to better relationships but the sum of every action, every word has put me right here in a pile of shit.  And I own it all.  Every tiny thing.  It’s mine and I play with it constantly, picking at every detail wondering if I should have handled each thing differently and if I had, would it have turned out better?  If I could go back to 1982, I would avoid life at all costs.

I suspected three years ago that I had utterly failed in the one goal I ever gave myself and I spent the following 8 months in counselling.  It wasn’t until Christmas 2018 though that I knew in my bones everything I had done in the last 35 years had been a colossal failure.  I knew it because the judgement was handed down by a Howitzer who took no prisoners and the sentence was more horrible than I could ever have imagined.  It was very apparent that the goal was to cause the most amount of pain in the most vicious way possible and it was a total success.  I didn’t catch all the issues during the firestorm; they came so fast and so loud it was impossible to comprehend them all.  What I did manage to understand left me confused and shocked.

I called them the following morning anyway, despite The Viking’s livid disagreement, to apologize for the things I thought were the major issues.   At that point, I knew I was done, but I was determined to go with my dignity, if nothing else, intact.  Then, I crawled into my cave and sobbed for the next two weeks.

I might have stayed in that cave for the remainder of my life, but two women* came to my rescue.  I love these beautiful people almost as much as I love The Viking.  They have their own harrowing stories of pain and utter despair, but they are still standing with grace and love and I refuse to do less.  They deserve what support and love I can give them as they have done for me.

Between sobbing events and sometimes during sobbing events, I desperately searched the internet for answers.  How do I survive this?  How could I have failed so epically?  Guess what I found?  I’m a Co-Dependent groomed from childhood to spend my entire life apologizing for my existence.  I also found hundreds and hundreds of parents, in the same position and as devastated as I am, searching for help and support.  The sheer magnitude of pain is staggering.  There isn’t a lot of support out there and most people are too ashamed to talk about it even if there was more support.  I debated whether to post this or not; ultimately, I decided that posting it can’t make my situation any worse than it already is, and perhaps others will tell me their stories.

There was a brief opportunity, a few months ago, that had the potential to resolve the problem, that maybe the words spoken in the heat of the moment would be withdrawn.  Unfortunately, the sentence was firm and implacable.  So I said things I wish I hadn’t, but I hated going down without the slightest resistance.  And now, I feel guilty and ashamed.

However, after exhaustive self-reflection something occurred to me and it’s at this point that it gets better.  The thing about accepting that I failed is that I can decide to accept that I failed.  It is what it is.  Once I accepted that I failed in the past, it only stands to reason that future efforts will have the same results because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, what else to try or how to fix it all.  I’m completely out of resources.

So, I leaned into it, absorbed every fault and flaw and failure and when I was done this is what I found:

When you are this low, you can’t possibly do worse.

When you’ve lost everything there’s nothing left to lose.

Nothing I ever do for the rest of my life could possibly end as bad as this.

No fear can be scarier than what I’ve already faced.

No pain can ever come close to what I live with now.

No shame can be greater than the shame I am already carrying.

Once you’re broken you’re broken, what more can happen?

If you think about it though, that’s freedom   

The worse thing that could possibly happen has already happened and since I’ve survived it the rest of life can only be better than here.  Failure isn’t a permanent condition and it doesn’t have to define who I am or my worth.  And I do have worth, it’s just not here.  So, I laid it all down.  Every hope, every option, every strategy.  I admitted defeat.  After all, I can’t blame them because they are what I created.  The end of the dream that turned into a battle; a dream that I probably shouldn’t have started to begin with.

And that’s where I found redemption

Suddenly, the vise around my chest collapsed and my shoulders relaxed.  My mind stilled for a long moment and the cloud over my head disappeared.  There was a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter in my stomach.  I felt like I had been hanging from a cliff by the tips of my fingers and suddenly just let go.  Relief was instantaneous.  If the fall kills me, so be it, there are worse things in life than a quick death and at least I’m not still hanging on like a pathetic supplicant hoping someone will offer me a hand.  Instead, I’m free.

Who would have thought that giving in to the despair and admitting defeat would ultimately save me?  I’m still dealing with suicidal thoughts and I unexpectedly sob at random times when my losses catch me unaware.

I’ve learned that love isn’t guaranteed to be where you think it should, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist anywhere else.  And my love may not be appreciated one place but in another place it may be cherished.  We don’t need to be perfect, we just need to be kind and sometimes the biggest kindness is to walk away, for yourself, but also for those you’ve been struggling with.  The peace you feel may be just as sweet for those you have left behind.

If you’ve been through this hell, I’d love to hear from you.  Misery loves company but comfort can best be found in numbers.

With Love from Me to You

 

*I’m talking about you Annette and Johanna – you wonderful, bright stars.

Before I Get Drunk

Welcome to my Drunk Season – Bailey’s in my coffee, whiskey in my chocolate, wine in my orange juice, beer in my Clamato and gin in my tonic.  Plus….Akvavit with my Julefrokost that may or may not end with my head resting on a blessedly cool toilet between heaves.  I swear that this Christmas I will know when to refuse that one final shot.

Anyway, since I will be drunk for the better part of the next 10 days, I thought I would do up a ‘Year In Review’ while I’m still sober enough to do it.

January

The Viking cheated at Rock, Paper, Scissors  by creating a Super Weapon and broke the World’s Pre-Eminent Decision-Making Tool and then laughed and laughed and laughed like he didn’t just unleash chaos throughout the universe.

February

The Viking insulted his English Doctor before she gave him his Prostate Exam by explaining that his hemorrhoids are the result of his English genes, courtesy of his Mother.

Also in February, The Viking’s Brother, Erik, and his beautiful Annette came for a visit and I cried for a week when they left.

The Saddest Song in the World

March

The Viking hung up a Dart Board, gave me a stiff Gin and Tonic, and 3 Darts.  It went as well as you can imagine.

April

A Girl Guide sold me a box of horrible cookies and I got angry at Dare Inc. because they should be giving better products for poor Girl Guides to sell.  Seriously!

May

The Viking decided to get into a Viking Lawn Mowing Competition with the neighbour but he had neglected his mower so much it needed some serious love.  My favorite Honda Parts Man, Adrian, had a better suggestion.

June

Teddy struck up a relationship with a foul-mouthed Magpie we named Alice Pooper who likes to squawk abuse very early in the morning at the top of its lungs.  Of our two cats, Teddy is the least likely to participate in an insult contest, while Izzie, the Queen of Mean, enjoys nothing more than a shouting and cursing match.  And it’s all icing on the cake if she can dish out slaps for emphasis.

July

I described the joys of the Blanket Fort and gave everyone permission to host their own Pity Party; I even provided a short list of suggested activities.

August

We took a road trip on the Goldwing and I annoyed The Viking by knocking on his helmet every time I needed to communicate my desires.

September

My Father passed away on August 23, 2019, and I wrote the ‘Worst Eulogy in the History of the World’ so I wrote another one that is a far better Eulogy than the one given at the Funeral.

October

I embarrassed myself at Dad’s Funeral because Anxiety makes me do stupid things and it took me over a month to talk about it.

I finally finished writing the book about my parents and while I was transcribing my Great Grandmother’s book in the back of my Parents’ book I found a Skeleton in our closet that is famous in the “Haunting & Spooks” community.

November

Snow arrived and the cats left paw prints on every single horizontal surface, including the stove and my boobs, and I’ve been cursing and shouting ever since.

I also learned the difference between a Carved-In-Stone Law and a Suggestion and made The Viking get all squinty around the eyes because he hates conversations like these.

December

The Viking almost cut off his finger, I almost fainted and an Emergency Doctor was impressed with The Viking’s cutting skills.

And, there you have it.  2019 in a nutshell.  It’s been awkward, sad, wonderful, shocking, heartbreaking and annoying in turns which sums up life in general, I suppose.  I’m pinning my hopes on a better year in 2020.

May 2020 make all your hopes and dreams come true.  For me and The Viking, too.