Family – Page 5 – Mrs. Completely

Culture, Throwing Axes and Tradition

It can be no surprise that a woman born and raised in Canada and a man raised in Denmark may have a few culture clashes. Sometimes they are just little discussions and other times they are nothing less than Shield Walls, Throwing Axes and shouted Curses. And, as you may suspect, The Viking is better at shouting curses than I am. He’s also the one who taught me every single thing I know about the Danes.

Here is a list of things that are affected by our cultural differences:

Food

Especially pork because Canadians have absolutely no idea how to cut up a pig, apparently. Also Pickled Herring, Thin brown cardboard called Rye Bread, Red Cabbage, Licorice Liqueur/Shooters/Candy and anything Cheese.

Me: What do you mean we don’t eat Turkey?! Everybody eats Turkey!

The Viking: I fucking hate Turkey. In Denmark we eat Pork Roast, Duck, Caramel Potatoes, Plain Potato chips and a side of Pickled Red Cabbage.

Me: Caramel Potatoes? That sounds horrible! You are supposed to eat Mashed Potatoes with Pork Roast! Duh!

The Viking: That’s bullshit. You never, ever, ever, ever serve Mashed Potatoes with Pork Roast. They are merely boiled – not Mashed. It’s fucking tradition!

Me: So when do I get Turkey and Stuffing and Mashed Potatoes and Corn Casserole and Sweet Potatoes and Pumpkin Pie?!

The Viking totally ignoring me: On New’s Year Eve we will have a Julefrokost.

Me: Not Turkey again?! Fuck!! Easter? What do Danes eat for Easter? Let me guess…..Pork Roast again? Ham? Thanksgiving? Nevermind, I’ll just guess.

Gifts

They don’t give gifts to each other, I guess. Gifts are a symptom of over-commercialization and spoils the true meaning of Christmas which is to watch Nisseman (Elves) on TV and then feed them a bowl of rice, boiled to a stew-like state with one almond in it; the first Nisseman that chokes to death on the almond wins a small toy. At least that’s what I think it’s all about. I find it all confusing.

Me: What?! No gifts? Where’s the fun in that?!

The Viking: It’s bullshit! You spend all your money buying junk for people who don’t even appreciate it and then you spend the next six months trying to pay it off.

Me: Not everyone does that. I’ll admit that some people do that but I don’t.

The Viking: If you want something go buy it yourself! I bought you a Dryer last month and that’s your Christmas gift!

Me: But I want to give you gifts. I would rather give one than receive one anyway.

The Viking: Not good for the fucking wallet, now is it!

Me: Sigh.

Walls

They must be painted white. Always white. Actually, everything has to be white. Kitchen cabinets, tables & chairs, carpets, dishes and flooring. Except the ceiling which is wood that has been white-washed.

Me: Why is everything so white?

The Viking: Because it’s usually overcast through the winters in Denmark and white brightens things up.

Me: What about the summer? Don’t they get blinded by the glare when it’s sunny? Don’t they lose all depth perception like people with snow blindness?

The Viking: It looks neat and clean.

Me: A lovely caramel color on the walls would look bright and neat and clean, too.

The Viking: Caramel is for Potatoes.

Me: Sigh.

Beds

They don’t share bedding. Ever. Each person has their own Duvet which they wrap themselves in to sleep. When they get up in the morning, they fold their Duvet lengthwise and lay it on the mattress.

Me: But that’s UGLY!

The Viking: Who’s going to see it?

Me: Someone might see it if they walk all the way down the hallway.

The Viking: …..

Me: Well, I would see it! It should be a beautiful room not something that would look comfortable as a University dorm room! It should be a place that exudes love!

The Viking: I don’t need a fucking room to remind me that I love you!

Me: Ack!! It’s not about that! Well it is about that but it’s also about an intimate and inviting environment, Dammit! Nothing ruins the mood for me faster than Frat Boy Décor!

The Viking: Fuck’s sake! It doesn’t look that bad!

Me: YES IT DOES! It looks awful! I want to stop and admire what a beautiful bedroom we have instead of looking away from the ugliness, shielding my eyes with my hands so I don’t get an accidental freak peek. I have to walk into the room backwards so I don’t have to look at the horribleness! Gawd!!!

Christmas Decorating

They cut out paper Nisseman and paste them all over the house. The tree is decorated with crafty woven paper heart-shaped pockets and filled with candy…..licorice, no doubt. The tree skirt is burlap. Yes, you read that right, burlap. They put real candles on the tree, light them up and then dance around it singing Christmas Carols.

Me: Wait. I can’t put all the decorations I’ve been carefully collecting for the past 25 years on the tree?

The Viking: Your decorations aren’t even Christmasy. You can put a couple on but then we should put traditional Christmas Balls and paper heart pockets on it. Mostly paper heart pockets.

Me: So I have to make these things?

The Viking: You can buy little kits with pre-cut paper at the Danish Store.

Me: So I have to make these things?

The Viking: I can help you.

Me: Do I have to fill it with Licorice or can I put something delicious in them?

The Viking: You can put whatever the fuck you want in them.

Me: I have to cut out all these Nissemen? What if I cut myself? I’ve never had to do arts and crafts that could kill me for Christmas before. Why can’t they be perforated or something to make it less Arthritis-y?

The Viking: I can help you.

Me: Somehow I doubt that. And I have to put a crudely stamped, burlap tree skirt around the tree instead of my beautiful iridescent, gold-beaded skirt?

The Viking: What does your skirt have to do with Christmas?

Me: It is embroidered with golden Christmas Trees! What makes your Burlap skirt Christmasy aside from the stamped Candle on it?!

The Viking: It’s TRADITIONAL!! Fucksakes!!

Me: There is no way our arms will reach around this tree so we can dance around it singing carols. And, by the way, that’s probably a dangerous thing for me to do. One slip of the foot and the whole house could burn down.

The Viking: We can skip that part. But we should have candles.

Me: Isn’t that a fire hazard? A passing Fireman could look in the window and see the live candles burning next to the tinder dry branches! He might think he needs to save us so breaks the window and starts throwing snow on the tree! Wait! What if it’s a brown Christmas like last year?! He might have to PEE on the TREE! I’m not cleaning that up!

The Viking: For fucksakes! We only light the candles while we are singing carols and then we blow them out!

Me: Fair warning: I only know the dirty version of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

The Viking: Sigh.

hansisland_png_653x0_q80_crop-smart — Hans Island

Thankfully, The Viking and I are reasonable people and I’m pretty sure I can convince him to let me have Turkey, Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes, Corn Casserole, Sweet Potatoes and Pumpkin Pie sometime in the next 5 years. After all, if the Danes and the Canadians can leave each other whiskey on a deserted but contested island for over 30 years, I should be able to have turkey.

Canadians and Danes leave each other whiskey gifts on Hans Island

PS: Once again, I learned every single thing I know about Danes from The Viking. Address all complaints to him. Thank you.

PPS: I actually love our Julefrokost! It’s just him and me but we get smashed on Akvavit and share our love and laughter and it’s amazing.

Streaking and A Change in Scheduling

I was sitting at my computer last night, playing a mindless card game, wasting time until I could justify going to bed. But then there was a commotion in the hallway and muffled curses from the bathroom. I smiled.

The Viking has a shower every night before bed because he’s a motorcycle mechanic and he gets dirty. Izzie joins him in the shower because water fascinates her. It’s ‘their thing’. Every night Izzie waits patiently until The Viking streaks from the bedroom to the bathroom – okay, it’s a very slow streak but he’s still streaking. I can provide proof if it’s absolutely necessary but I’m hoping you’ll just take my word for it.

Last night there was a change in scheduling though. The Viking’s plumbing decided that what should have happened in the morning would now happen at night, just prior to his shower. In order to save time, he streaked….struck?….Straked?….to the bathroom even though he had something else to do before he got in the shower.

Try explaining that to a cat! Especially to a cat that has been waiting for several hours for The Streaking Viking already and now finds the bathroom door firmly closed against her.

Izzie: Woooaaaahhh! Muuwah! Aaaaa!

The Viking yelling through the bathroom door: Izzie! Stop it!

Izzie: Aaaaaaa!!! Eeeeooowww!! Muuaa!

The Viking: I’m taking a shit, for fuck’s sake!

Izzie, slapping the bathroom door like a drummer in a rock band: Waaaaaa! Aagg!!!

The Viking: You don’t want to be in here! It smells like shit!

Izzie, now sticking one front leg all the way under the door, slapping the inside of the door, and the floor for good measure: Wah!! Eeeeeeoowww! Eeyahh! Wooaahh!

The Viking: Go away!!

Izzie: Eeeyaaahh!! Muuuuaa!!

The Viking: Fuck sakes! You’re going to smell like shit too!! Okay, fine!

The bathroom door opens and then closes quickly. This is actually an impressive feat because the door isn’t all that close to the toilet; there is significant leaning and stretching involved in the maneuver.

The house becomes quiet. For a minute or two. Then, very muffled, I hear a little squeak.

Izzie: Waah?

The Viking: …..

Izzie: Waahh??

The Viking: …..

Izzie: Wah!!

The Viking: I told you it smells like shit in here! Now you have to wait until I’m done.

Izzie: Waaaaaaahhh.

The Viking: Maybe this will teach you to let me take my shits in peace.

Izzie: …..

The Viking: Uuhhkk! Don’t touch that!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: For Fuck’s Sake!! You know you’re not allowed to do that! Leave the paper alone!!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: NO! Don’t do it!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: I need that now! No! Give me that!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: You little Fucker!!

The toilet flushes.

The Viking: Wait! No!! Let me clean it out first! Stop it! Fucks sake! Toilet flushes again. Okay. There!

2 minutes into the shower The Viking is whistling and cooing endearments to Izzie who is happily slapping water droplets on the floor.

If You Suddenly Smell Flowers……

I never thought I would need to write about this but it’s become a very big issue lately. It’s so big, in fact, that I’ve resorted to carrying a can of Air Freshener and a large fan.

When our bathroom was renovated The Viking wisely found the largest, fastest, smell-suckingest fan on the market. It’s like a jet engine; it spools up with a whine as it reaches its full rpms and our hair gets pulled toward the ceiling. This is a small house with only one bathroom and the fan plays an important role in our marital happiness.

Ordinarily, it’s The Viking who needs the fan most. We eat the same things but his body does something with food that my body doesn’t. He’s very good about closing the door and turning on the fan but every once in a while I’m concerned Cadaver Dogs will come calling.

Full Disclosure: I will admit to one evening 3 months ago when something happened in my digestive tract. I sat in the livingroom, watching a movie, silently leaking noxious odors and covertly looking at The Viking to see if he could smell what I could smell. And every time, he just continued to watch TV like everything was fine. I was having difficulty keeping a straight face because I couldn’t remember a time when I leaked anything that smelly and because smelly farts are just funny. Particularly to the Farter. And the fact that my eyes were watering made it even funnier!

The weird thing is that I was farting in an almost constant stream but 3 out of 4 of those farts were completely innocent, non-smelly, quiet gusts of wind. However, at one point Izzie woke from her nap in my lap, gave me a nasty look and stomped over to the trunk in front of the window to continue her nap. And still The Viking said nothing. The fucking cat, that plays in her own litter box, couldn’t stand the smell but The Viking could?!

Finally, after at least an hour of toxic emissions:

Me: “Oh come on! Can you not smell this!?”

The Viking: Yes.

Me: So why haven’t you left the room?! Or told me to leave the room?

The Viking: It’s a good movie.

Me: You are willing…..sucking breath in…..to inhale…..Bahahaha!…….noxious fumes so……I can’t breath!……you don’t have to……..wipes tears from eyes……pause the movie? Didn’t you see…….wiping more tears from eyes……the Cat?!

The Viking: It’s just farts! It’s not like you shit on the sofa! And yes, I did see the cat and I almost laughed out loud. I wanted to know how long you would keep this up without saying anything.

I was laughing so hard I peed my pants a little bit. Not once in the past hour did he wave a hand in front of his face or try to blow the stink away. He did attend a boarding school though so I can only assume his odor detectors are fried.

Aside from that one and only time, I emit flowery fragrances. If you’re in our house and you suddenly smell flowers – it’s me. I did that. It’s a gift.

The Viking usually gives a loud courtesy horn that an odor may be seeping into the room and I really appreciate it. If it’s a bad one, he says, “Phew! Sorry, Babe!” and I run. I once walked into the garage to give him a message and it was like walking into a very large and very stinky wall. I shouted the message from 6 feet away.

Izzie isn’t quite as polite. Day before yesterday, she was in her Cat Castle, ostensibly sleeping, but about every 15 minutes or so a horrible smell floated past my desk while I was trying to work. I waved my hand under my nose and gave her a filthy look but she was smiling. Payback I assume.

Izzie has also discovered that she loves water, so anytime anyone – especially The Viking – goes into the bathroom she streaks in behind them before they get the door closed. She’s hoping the water in the sink will accidentally be left on so she can do the Hokey Pokey and shake water all around. The real trouble is when The Viking is done with his deposit because it takes him extra time to get Izzie out of the room. That extra time means extra smell seepage and greater spreadage and there is a limit to what the Jet Fan can do.

And then Junior showed up last night. We chatted for a little while then he needed to pee. But he didn’t pee! He pooed! And he didn’t turn the fan on either! After he left I needed to pee. I opened the door to the bathroom and immediately fainted. Holy Shit!! What in the hell is that guy eating?! Due to his fried odor detectors, The Viking braved his way to the fan switch and grabbed the air freshener. It took the combined efforts of both of us to tame that Stink.

We’ve considered putting in a second bathroom – a Poop Room – but we’d have to give up a closet and we don’t have enough of them in the first place. Maybe I should just get one of those nose thingys that Synchronized Swimmers have. They look like they could keep out smells but that would make me a ‘mouth-breather’ and I couldn’t handle the stigma involved.

But look what I did find! I could stuff the beak full of flowers and other nice smelling things. FYI, these are not my pictures. I found them by Googling “beaked masks”.

And also, Fart Patches for underwear. I wouldn’t have to wear a Beaked Mask at all if people – and certain cats – were responsible Farters! It might be uncomfortable to remove the patch from Izzie’s rear end though – for both of us.

And on this note I’ll bid you ‘farewell, see you again’ because I’ve had 3 cups of coffee and I need to pee. The Viking made his deposit an hour ago so I think the stink should be gone!

The Faint of Heart and Beserkerville

We survived. Barely.

Curses were shouted, tears were spilled, hair was pulled, fingers were pointed and doors were slammed. And slammed again just for effect.

I knew going in that the big office move was not for the faint of heart. If you are at all sensitive, if your skin is not 12 layers thick, if words ending in ‘it’ or ‘uck’ or ‘ucker’ or ‘ard’ offend you….our house was definitely not the place to be last weekend. On the plus side, there haven’t been any flaming bags of dog shit on our front step so I’m going to assume that the neighbors didn’t hear the worst of the gong show. OR…maybe we’ve managed to immunize them over the past few years. Either way I should probably take gift baskets to the closest ones.

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Bruises, Ballerinas and A Spy Camera

Last night I noticed another big bruise on The Viking’s ass. He shrugged it off when I asked him about it; pretended surprise that there could possibly be a bruise on his ass because he has the grace of a ballerina. I let it go at first, but then later I started thinking about it again and I got suspicious.

It’s usually me who bumps into things, whacks my head, cuts my finger etc. while The Viking looks down from his lofty, graceful pedestal and says, “Be careful” or “Don’t slip” or “Watch out for………..” or “Give me that knife because you are about to chop off your hand”. There is an entire list of things that I can’t be trusted with:

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The Only Way We Get There is Together

My childhood was rife with fear and confusion.

I was afraid and cornered and trapped and hated.

At 16 I gave up and ran like a wounded animal.

I had money for food and 5 nights in a hotel.

I cowered there in abject misery.

I had nowhere to go, no one to help me.

I was forced to make that terrible phone call home.

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Dum-Dum, Scrub & Weiner

I was reading another person’s blog* this morning about nicknames and it got me thinking about the nicknames my sisters and I had when we were young.

My nickname as a kid was Dum-Dum and I know exactly why that was my nickname. I was an alien, that’s why. Or at a minimum, an alien to my family. And aliens do things differently than other people. We need good information because we always have questions, and without good information we tend to spin our wheels guessing. Here’s an example of how I, an 8 year old alien, spun my wheels:

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Risk Assessments

The risks of getting out of bed:

Falling and breaking my hip
Having cold feet because I can’t find my slippers
Someone may actually want me to do something before I have my second cup of coffee
Running out of coffee before I get my second cup
Being forced to put on a bra and get dressed before noon

The risks of stopping to talk to my neighbour:

He will tell me all about his sex life
He will rub my arm…..again…..with his sweaty hand
His wife will come out to chat
I’ll have to pretend interest in their medical problems

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How to Annoy a Viking

Have you ever got up in the morning feeling bored and listless and by noon you are so bored and listless that you can’t even tolerate yourself? And then you start looking around for something to end your boredom and the only thing you see is a Viking? Well, that’s me today.

So I’m wondering what I can do with The Viking that would break the monotony of my current existence. Of course the obvious answer is sex. Having sex with a Viking is awesome but I’m not really in the mood because I’m bored and listless. If only he would entertain me. Maybe I should just ask him. Maybe he would be more than happy to entertain me instead of working in the garage.

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Procrastination is Completely Reasonable

I knew from a very early age that I was a procrastinator. I knew this because my mother said, “You’re a procrastinator.” My eyes probably started darting around the room at that moment, hoping to get a hint from somewhere what the hell a ‘Procrastinator’ was. “Look it up in the dictionary. Now.” (meaning I couldn’t put it off for a less busy moment, I guess). I was hoping it would be a good thing but I had my suspicions that it wasn’t; my older sister was the usual recipient of random compliments, not me. I was the one everyone looked at when someone said, “Who did that?!”

I fiddled through the pages of the dictionary until I found it, or at least what I hoped was it because how in the hell do you spell ‘procrastinate’? It said:

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Category: Family