There’s a conspiracy against me. I don’t know who it is or why they are doing it, but someone is definitely being a dick.
I could understand it if I lived in a small town or in the country, but I don’t. I live in a big-ass city so the chances should be good that I would be privileged. I give money to charities and help those who need a hand sometimes. I’ve been building up good karma for decades!
Sure, every once in a while I flip a bad driver the bird – who doesn’t? And I regularly hang up on those people, calling from a third world country, who tell me there is a problem with my Microsoft programs. Religious groups ringing my front door bell are usually given less than polite conversation but I don’t call them names or anything like that. I just tell them I’m not interested, wish them a good day then close the door. That’s not horrible.
True, I did call a couple of guys ‘Fucking Idiots’ but they had that coming! The Viking left the front door open for the air conditioner overnight and these two assholes start ringing the doorbell at 6:00 in the AM! Why? They wanted to share their fucking Jagermeister with me AT SIX O’CLOCK IN THE DAMNED MORNING! On a Saturday! This shouldn’t cost me negative Karma at all because even the Lord Almighty would have called them ‘Fucking Idiots’ after spending 10 minutes trying to get his door out of their drunken grip (why are drunks so freakishly strong? It doesn’t make sense!).
My Member of Parliament sends out these sheets of propaganda and I admit that I decorate them with colored markers, citing every grievance I have against their Neo-Liberal bullshit, and then mail it back ‘postage paid’. I’m fairly confident that it gets delivered because I make block letter complaints about their efforts to privatize Canada Post so it’s in their best interest to deliver it, right? So, I suppose, if my MP gets hurt feelings, there might be a ding of bad karma, but not so much it should make a difference.
So, I’m mystified at the seemingly deliberate plan not to do Flash Mobs anywhere around me. I’m sure the jerks know that I would LOVE Flash Mobs to happen at the grocery store or in my front yard and yet there hasn’t been a single incident of Flash Mobbing in the entire community! What’s up with that?!
Like this:
How do teenagers deserve a Flash Mob and I don’t? Teenagers can be total dicks like no one else can be total dicks and they haven’t had nearly as many years accruing karma, yet here they are enjoying a Flash Mob.
That one showed up on my Face Book feed and it led me down a YouTube rabbit hole of Flash Mobs that have never happened near me. Some of them were wonderful and some were lame but I’d even take a lame Flash Mob. After an hour lost in the depths, I found one that was my favorite.
Oh…those Russians, right?
I’m guessing that some of you, too, have never been privileged enough to deserve your own Flash Mob but maybe you have seen videos of enough to have a favorite. Put a link in the comments so I can live vicariously through you.
And, for the Powers That Be who are not letting Flash Mobs happen on my front lawn during the hours of 9:00am to 6pm……you’re dicks.
So I was at the grocery store yesterday – just picking up a few things for dinner. It was nearly that time already but I had other things on my mind all day and suddenly I thought “Shit! What am I going to make for dinner?! It’s blisteringly hot outside so I’m not cooking inside. Bar-B-Que it is!”
And everything went really well, almost right to the end. Because as I was waiting for the scale to verify the weight of my bags I looked up and…..time stopped for a moment.
Is that Stanley’s* new wife? Can I even call her the ‘new’ wife because it’s been a while since he married her. I consider myself the ‘old’ wife so I suppose that would make her ‘new’ wife.
That kind of makes us sound like cars, doesn’t it? I’m the old trade-in and she’s the shiny new one that smells awesome inside. EWW…!! That didn’t come out right. Not that she doesn’t smell good inside…..but how would I even know that? Geez! Let’s just pretend I never said that, okay?
So……I look up from the scale and I see her, but I’m not 100% certain it’s her….I’m in more like the 85 percentile of positivity. It looks like her but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so maybe I’m wrong. This store is a little out of her neighborhood and while I don’t mind her shopping at my grocery store, I would like to know if it is, indeed, Mildred* or not, because shopping like a Meerkat is going to get weird.
Let’s put that aside for now though, because there are bigger issues here than whether she is Mildred or she isn’t. Namely, did she see me? We didn’t quite make eye contact before I dropped my head and stared at the screen in front of me. I diligently started scanning my items while my mind kicked into overdrive.
How am I supposed to behave? What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Should I do the Floppy Wave and keep it loose and friendly? A rigid, proper wave – my fingers straight and squeezed together, and make Wash On, Wash Off movements? Maybe a Queenly Wave – my hand cupped, palm towards me with kind of scooping motions? Or maybe she didn’t see me at all and the guy at the cashier behind her will think I’m hitting on him and I’ll have a situation in the parking lot?
Maybe I should just take a deep breath and plunge into the morass of awkward Divorc-i-ness. I’m not harboring any bad feelings but I have no idea what the other side feels. Maybe there is an incommunicado policy in place that I’m not aware of. Did Stanley tell her that I wanted to give him away at their Wedding? I thought it was a brilliant idea – the old wife officially giving him to the new wife. That would have started things off on the right foot, in my opinion, but Stanley threatened death and dismemberment.
Even if I do decide to take the plunge, what do I say for an opening salvo? Do I holler across 6 cashiers and say…..what?
“How’s that husband working out for you?”
Or “Hey Mildred!! Lookin’ good!”
Or should I be more formal “Felicitations Mildred!”
By the time I finished paying for my stuff, I had decided to just screw up my courage and make an oblique approach and maybe accidentally bump into her cart. I could pretend that I just saw her at this moment and not 5 minutes ago when I ducked down like a 3rd Grader.
There was a tiny whoosh of relief when I couldn’t see her. And then I wondered if she was doing the same thing that I was doing because she had no damned idea how to behave in these circumstances either. Maybe she hissed at her cashier to hurry the fuck up, then ran out of the store like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Maybe she even squealed tires trying to get out of the parking lot before I made my way out of the store. Probably not because she’s an adult, but I still wonder if she felt awkward too?
I’m going to blame this entirely on Stanley. First, because I haven’t done that for years and second, because he should have let me give him away at his damned Wedding. This wouldn’t even be an issue if we had started this off on the right foot to begin with.
In the meantime, I need a plan in case we bump into each other again. I need a suave and elegant opener and then hope to hell I did my hair that morning.
*I’ve changed his name to protect his identity and privacy. Because I’m just that kind of person.
*I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and privacy. Because I’m just that kind of person. What?! I like the name Mildred and it goes quite nicely with Stanley. Mildred and Stanley – see? It rolls right off the tongue.
I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions. One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.
“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”
I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows. Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows? Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care? Do they have Garbage Disposal? Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.
If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups? Are they fake Christians? Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?
Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place? Who are they hiding from? We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.
Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean? They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake? How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones? If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket? If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are? Are they dangerous? This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me. Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?
Are there nice Hiding Christians? Should we be working on Safe Houses for them? I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all. The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows. And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat? You know…..like Hell? I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.
There are so many unknowns now. I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank. I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right? Ormaybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.
So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians. And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.
That sounds totally plausible to me.
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Izzie: What do you mean, ‘I suppose so’? Don’t you have any curiosity in your soul? Don’t you ever want to know why?
Teddy: Not particularly. As long as there is food in my bowl I’m pretty content.
Izzie:Gawd! You and your kind are the reason we aren’t the dominant species on this planet.
Teddy: That’s a little stereotypical, isn’t it? Just because I’m not curious about water swirling down a hole doesn’t mean I’m not curious.
Izzie: It’s not just water swirling down a hole! They keep the lid down so we can’t see what’s going on in there.
Teddy: Maybe nothing is going on in there. Maybe they just don’t want you playing in the water. Mom was pretty pissed the last time you played in there. You mixed our pooper stuff in the water and flicked it all over the walls and floor.
Izzie: It was an experiment! I told you that already!
Teddy: Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here. I don’t care if you want to play in it, I just don’t happen to share your curiosity.
Izzie: So why does The Viking pull his thing out and put more water in there only to swirl it down the hole? It just doesn’t make sense! What’s the matter with peeing in sand? Why sand for us but water for them?
Teddy: Maybe it’s because they don’t like digging in sand. Have you ever seen them dig in sand for any reason? Maybe it gets under their claws and they hate it? My other sister never dug either because she didn’t like sand in her claws. I was the one who had to bury her poo.
Izzie:Of course you were. So why does Mom sit to pee but The Viking stands? Wait! I just had a thought! What if he’s just so proud of his thingy he wants to show it to me all the time. Like when I kill mice and show them to him.
Teddy: Maybe. I’m impressed with it. He’s got me beat by a mile. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a nod or a purr of delight when he shows it to you.
Izzie: I don’t really care about that. I’m more concerned with what Mom is doing. She sits all the time and I have a suspicion that it’s not just because she’s humble. I think she hiding something.
Teddy: What would she be hiding in the water?
Izzie: That’s exactly what I don’t understand. She does something, puts paper on top of it and then swirls it all down the hole before I can find out what it was.
Teddy: Maybe it was just some poo.
Izzie: So why won’t she let me see it? Why hide it if it’s just a poo?
Teddy: Then what do you think it is? If it’s not poo then what is it?
Izzie: I’m not sure but I think it might be Treats. She’s obviously trying to keep it away from us and what is the one thing that we like more than anything else?
Teddy: Treats?! She wouldn’t be that cruel, would she?
Izzie: Who squirts you with water when you claw things you’re not supposed to claw? It’s not The Viking – he just yells. It’s Mom who’s trigger happy. Who knows what else she’s capable of?
Teddy: Noooo! But I liked Mom! She scratches my chin and gives me massages!
Izzie: That’s how she lulls you to sleep so you don’t catch on to her nefarious treat drowning scheme.
Teddy: Wait. She gives us treats though. When we come home when she calls, when we bug her and stare at the treat cupboard, when we do something cute……she gives us treats! There has to be another explanation.
Izzie: Well, I can’t think of anything else that we really like.
Teddy: What if it is just poo but she just doesn’t want us to see it?
Izzie: Well that’s just crazy talk. Why wouldn’t she want us to see that? The Viking doesn’t mind. I know that for a fact.
Teddy:Whatever, Iz. I’m going to see if there’s more food in my bowl.
Izzie: There isn’t. You know the schedule and it’s not time for more food.
Teddy: I’d rather be looking for food than staring in the swirling water bowl.
Izzie: Go ahead. But some day I’m going to figure this out and then you’ll be worshipping the ground I walk on.
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Hi! It’s so nice to see you, especially since you came to the Back Door – I’ll explain that in a minute. Here’s a mug, coffee is in the thermos and you already know where to find the treats. It’s not like it’s the first time you’re here. You are family now. You’re lucky I don’t assign a chore.
Yes, that was a joke. I would never force you to work for your coffee because that would be wrong and I hate having chores when I visit one of you.
So, I’ve had to answer my front door 3 times this week. 3 times! And I always approach the Front Door Summons with some trepidation because there are a finite number of things that happen at my Front Door and not all of them are pleasant. And rarely is it a friend.
Everyone I know comes to the Back Door. You do. You knock once, come on in and yell, in a very high voice, “HELLOOOOO”. I had a weirdo friend once that wanted everyone to use the Front Door all the time. I had to stop visiting her because who knows what other kinds of horrible things she’s got going on? What was she hiding in her back entry? Did she have small children chained to the wall or something? Who knows? No one was allowed to go back there!
And a Summons from the Front Door isn’t like a phone call where any sort of fuckery can happen, there’s usually only a few reasons someone might be on the other side of that door.
Good Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
To give me 2 Night Vision Goggles so The Viking and I can play Hide ‘n Seek in the dark.
That pretty much ends my list of good things that happen at the Front Door.
Bad Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
It could be the police wanting to know if I’m a Grow-Op (no), or if I own a Rav 4 with front end damage (maybe), or if I own any firearms (no), or where I was night before last between the hours of 11:00pm and 3:00am (probably asleep in bed but I couldn’t prove it).
It could be armed assailants that want to steal our TV. It is a really nice TV.
It could be someone complaining that we forgot to close the curtains for Naked Hockey Night. That doesn’t happen very often though.
Most probably though, whoever is on the other side of my Front Door wants to sell me something or teach me something – neither of which I’m interested in. Unless they want to teach me how to do handbrake turns and drifting because I really, really wish I knew how! The Viking won’t teach me for some bewildering reason.
Of the three times(!) I had to trek to the Front Door this week, two times were because the Religiously Active are apparently concerned about The State Of My Soul and which direction I will be heading immediately after my death. The first visit was from two little old ladies that were so sweet I couldn’t be rude. I took their pamphlet and smiled and wished them a wonderful day. I put the pamphlet directly into recycling without reading what would be involved in saving my soul.
The second visit from the Religiously Active was a sweet old man with very short arms. I don’t know why his arms are so short because while I was running through a mental list of all the possible reasons his arms could be so short he became less sweet and more Inquisition-y. I told him I already had the pamphlet he was showing me and he didn’t believe me!
“Oh reaaally.” He said slowly. “Have you ever seen these two ladies before? Are they from the neighbourhood?” I think he’s been knocking on doors for far too long; there was definitely some bitterness there.
I hesitated. It was like looking at a Bunnie that just bit me; it was so cute but it had big teeth! And how should I reply? With Sarcasm? Condescension? Belligerence?
I decided on the Carefully Neutral But With A Hint Of Sarcasm tone.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen these ladies before in my entire life. Well, maybe I did before they got old – wrinkles sometimes change a person’s face – but I definitely haven’t seen them in the last decade for sure. You aren’t going to make me go through my recycling bin for the pamphlet, are you? Because I would really hate that.”
It was his turn to have a moment of indecision but eventually he said. “Well, thank you for your time. Will we be seeing you at our Memorial Celebration?”
“Probably not. Have a lovely day.” I smiled kindly.
The third visit to my front door was Canada Post delivering a catalogue. I really hate this kind of Summons because the Postal Person is already two houses down the block before I open the door so I’m forced to holler “THANK YOU!” and she just waves back at me. That is an extremely unsatisfying interaction with another human being. I like a “You’re Welcome” when I say “Thank You”. It’s a start and an end. Satisfying. A backhand wave from half a block away isn’t the same thing at all and I don’t particularly like having to bellow my appreciation. To add insult to injury the catalogue wasn’t even for me – which might have made up for the walk all the way to the Front Door. But no, it was for The Viking.
Okay. End of Pet Peeve Rant.
You have a weird look on your face. Do you think I’m nuts? Is it because you just haven’t thought about it or do you not mind people coming to your Front Door willy-nilly like there’s no order to the chaos in the universe? Without order and rules we could be facing an onslaught of people knocking on Front Doors and running away like in the 1970s, and no one wants that, my friends.
So! How was your week?
Thanks to Part-Time Monster for inventing and growing Weekend Coffee Share and Nerd in the Brain for hosting the event. You guys are awesome.
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?!
TheVikingtotally 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.
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.
My Father is a Ruralite. He’s spent his entire life in rural areas and he’s picked up some colorful ‘isms’ over the years that pepper his conversations. These ‘isms’ are charming and humorous but how did they ever become part of rural vernacular? Didn’t anyone question the guy who said it for the first time? A group of dudes standing around and one of them says “Wow! That works Slicker than Goose Shit in a Tin Horn” and no one looks at the guy and says “How would you know how slick shit becomes in a tin horn, Frank?” And you know it was a guy who said it first because a woman would have said something along the lines of “Wow! That was easier than sticking your finger in bacon fat!” and every woman around her would nod in agreement because they all know exactly how easy it is to stick your finger in bacon fat.
