Tag: relationships

Hello Deer! And Who Was In Charge of Lunch?!

Spring has finally arrived, if only temporarily.  When you live in Alberta though, you hustle out and enjoy the good weather whenever it happens.  In the case of The Viking and I, we do less hustling and more shuffling, but we eventually get the job done.

Such was the case on Saturday.

The Viking has been searching for the perfect campground for a week-long escape with the Fifth Wheel and he wanted to take a nice drive to a couple of places to see exactly how they rate on the ‘Possible Location List’.  Finding a place isn’t as easy as you’d think.  We have standards that need to be met:

  • Are there actual trees? You’d be surprised at the number of places that have concrete slabs laid out like RV Prison Camps.
  • Is there electricity? We aren’t interested in ‘roughing it’ – we’re too old for that shit.  There are few things worse than battling moths and mosquitoes when you’re huddled around a lantern trying to play cards.
  • Is there a water hook-up? I like to have a shower once in a while to wash off the Bug Spray and smoke residue.  Oh, I know that it is the International Standard Perfume for summer camping but I’m not a fan of ‘Eau d’Smokey DEET’ 24/7.
  • How about a sewer hook-up? We’re human and humans poop and hanging my ass over a pit clogged with nasty is not something I can compromise on.  Just doesn’t happen, unless it’s a matter of life or death.
  • Can anyone walking by see us and think we are happy to chat?  We’re not.  We are Introverts.  We have nothing against other people, we just don’t want to talk to an endless stream of them trying to be neighbourly.
  • Is there a playground close by? If there is, we’ll want a site well-removed from said playground.  We don’t have anything against kids but they’re loud and annoying.  We’ve outgrown that stage in life where every kid is adorable and deserves a homemade cookie.
  • Is there anything of the slightest bit of interest to go see in the general area? Or walking paths?  That’s even better!  We/I get bored easily.
  • A Swimming Pool? The Viking likes being wet for some ungawdly reason and a swimming pool is one of his favourite things.  If there are a couple of chairs so he can booze it up in between refreshing his wetness, he’ll stay there all day and most of the evening.  I sit in a chair with a book, explaining over and over that I’m sure the water is wonderful and No, I’m not interested in wetness.  It doesn’t discourage him at all.

Anyway, there was one campground that we wanted to get a look at before committing, so we jumped in the car for a lovely afternoon drive.  In typical fashion, we didn’t discuss food and we didn’t discuss our route to the campground.  Needless to say, we were in an argument before we ever left the neighbourhood.  Last minute changes to his itinerary has a way of irritating The Viking.  I probably should have filed the proper paperwork in advance.

Since the day was so lovely, I didn’t let a little skirmish ruin the day.  We only went about an hour and a half from Calgary, but that hour and a half is packed with beautiful.

Hello Deer!

We found a gorgeous picnic spot; it’s just too bad we hadn’t thought to bring any food.  I’m not sure who was supposed to be in charge of the Lunch, but they obviously suck at their job.  A sandwich, a cracker, anything really, would have been appreciated.

We’ll have to get the Goldwing out one of these days and go back.  Once the food organizer gets his/her shit together.  We should probably file the proper request in advance with a list of menu options we would like.

As for the campground….well….it didn’t meet the standards*.  Unfortunately.  It was a very nice campground.  If you happen to live in the area and are looking for a great campground that has electricity and drinking water – Sandy McNabb Campground, west of Turner Valley is for  you.

*First world problems, right?  Pampered Queen?  Spoiled?  Unapologetically guilty.  😏

 

The Vikings Have Left the Building

We dropped Erik and Annette at the airport on Friday afternoon.  Tears and hugs and promises to talk soon.  Before we all dissolved into puddles, The Viking and I got into the car and drove away, Erik and Annette waving through the rearview mirror.  We sniff and wipe tears but don’t speak for fear the internal howls of grief will escape.

When did they sneak into my soul?  When we picked them up from the airport, a mere two and a half weeks ago, I was surprised to feel my throat close up and tears spring to my eyes at the first sight of them coming through those sliding doors.  Their faces are as dear to me as The Viking’s.  I hugged them hard for longer than I should have, and they let me.  They must have known how much The Viking and I needed them.

There were joys and griefs, worries and fears to share.  We celebrated The Viking’s 60th Birthday, each of us thinking how the years left to us should be filled with love and support.  We plan future trips and things we’ll do.  It’s easy when you are in the company of these beautiful people.

We refused to acknowledge the looming date of their departure, none of us willing to put a shadow on our time together.  Instead, we drank and laughed and loved.  We went to a pub to watch a hockey game – Annette has never experienced Canadian Hockey enthusiasm.  We stayed in the mountains for a couple of nights despite the freezing temperatures.  The Viking took Erik to the Man’s Porn Store (Princess Auto) and we all wandered through a mall looking for deals.

Mostly though, we Hygge’d – enjoyed each other’s company for the brief time we had.  Someday, perhaps, we can spend more time.  Hopefully.  In the meantime, we talk on FaceTime and send messages of love on FaceBook.  That will have to hold us.

All our loved-ones on the other side of the planet know that we send them hugs and love every day.  Be safe.  Be happy.

And, since this has been a post filled with sorrow, I’ll end with the saddest music ever:

You’re Neglecting Me

 

I’ve been missing Mim lately.  She lives 7 minutes away but she’s so damned busy fixing up her new house and working full-time that there isn’t much time for visiting.  So, I was thrilled, naturally, when my phone rang yesterday and it was her.

She caught me up on her house projects and how much she likes her new job.  I let her ramble for a bit before I said….

“You’re neglecting me.”

She laughed.  “I don’t mean to neglect you, it’s just that I’m really busy.”

“It still feels like neglect.  I only have The Viking for daily companionship and you know how much he enjoys listening to me talk about the challenges of shopping or why I need a tiny pony and two geese or why I should call him Maurice from now on.  I can’t even get him to tell me that supper was more than just ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.”  I keep hoping that one day he will take a bite of food and say ‘Holy Fuck that’s good!!’

Being receptive to my needs, Mim immediately asked me if I’d like to come to Home Depot after dinner.  “We could browse around and maybe pick out some colors for your house………

Annnnnd, that’s where she lost me.  While she was still talking I was cringing in something close to horror!

“Wait.  Tonight?!  You want me to leave my house tonight?!”

“You can ditch The Viking for a couple of hours, can’t you?”

“Yeess.  But (tipping my head way back and howling to the Gawds) I hate having to go out after dinner!”

“I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I do!  I just didn’t think it would involve leaving my house.  After dinner.”

“You could come for some tea and see what I’ve done with the house.”

“Does that involve me leaving my house after dinner?”

“Mom!”

Through intense negotiations we decided she would come to me one evening this week (I had to sweeten the deal by offering wine) and next week I’ll go to Home Depot with her after dinner.  I’ll just have to postpone our nightly Netflix binge for another night.  It’ll be fine.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve never been much of a socializer; I paste a Happy on my face and make jokes hoping no one notices that I have a run in my pantyhose or a stain on my boob because I dropped a stuffed mushroom en route from my plate to my mouth.

Public get-togethers are fraught with perils:

    • Please don’t let my pantyhose fall down around my ankles as I’m going for another drink.
    • Please don’t let me slip and fall on my ass as I head for the washroom.
    • Please don’t let a pair of panties stuck in a pant leg fall out as I’m crossing the dance floor. Don’t ask.
    • Please don’t ask me to dance because I WILL step on your toes. Probably all of them, multiple times.
  • Please don’t let me get flatulent from the Broccoli Salad. And if I do get flatulent, please don’t let them stink unless I’m standing beside The Viking and people would just assume it’s him.  Especially if I point a finger at him while wrinkling my nose.
  • Please don’t let my hair fall from a Hot Flash – Menopause sucks.
  • Please let me remember where I parked the car.
  • Please keep the catty bitches away from me because I can never come up with a witty insult on short notice and I won’t sleep for days just thinking about it.
  • And, finally….please don’t have a swimming pool anywhere in the vicinity because The Fucking Viking always has to get into the pool which means I’m obligated to get into the pool. In a bathing suit.

An actual video of The Viking near a body of water no matter the size:

Versus me in water:

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m an Introvert that becomes a Super Introvert after dinner or at a social function, particularly if that social function involves dinner*.  You would think Mim would know this by now.  And she probably does but she thinks it’s good for me to face my fears or some fucking thing (she’s probably right but don’t tell her I said so).  And, I’m the first one to admit that once I’ve been dynamited out of the house I generally have a nice time, as long as there is lots of booze and only three people.

So, while you’re not telling Mim, I’ll try to work on my Introvert-dom.

*I’ve made it a hard rule to never eat spaghetti or ribs when dining out – the potential for disaster is just too great.

 

 

 

Bird Flipping, a Birthday Party and a Hospital

My parents turned 80 this year and, as befitting such an accomplishment, my older sister organized a combined Birthday Party for them.  At least I think it was just her, but it may have included up to two other sisters as well (there are 4 of us after all).  I never thought to ask and now I feel slightly horrible because I had no responsibility other than showing up at the best restaurant in town at 2:00pm.

It’s slightly more than 400km (250 miles) from my house to the best restaurant in Barrhead so I had to use math, my fingers and reverse counting to make sure my arrival was early enough but not too early (Dad’s a stickler about timing).  So it went kind of like this:

  • I have to be there at 2:00pm so I had better be there at 1:30pm.
  • It takes about 4 hours to get there so….12:30, 11:30, 10:30, 9:30……
  • Give yourself an extra half hour for traffic jams, speeding tickets and assholes who drive the exact speed limit in the fast lane.…..9:00am.
  • I’ll put some make-up on and since I haven’t done that in like 8 months I had better give myself a good 45 minutes in case I have to start all over at least once (and I did have to start over once)……8:15am.
  • I need 20 minutes for a shower (thank Gawd I don’t need to shave my legs because that would have added another 15 minutes to my prep time)…..7:55am.
  • I’ll make the coffee and it can brew while I’m in the shower…..7:45am.

I ripped through every article of clothing I own on Tuesday in an effort to find the perfect combination of nice but not too nice – it’s a Birthday Party, not a Royal Wedding.  After two hours, one crying fit, one rage against the designers of womens clothing, eloquently fat-shaming myself and a serious consideration of just showing up naked….I found an outfit I considered understated yet classy.  To be honest, it included Yoga Pants because 9 hours in a vehicle wearing dress pants makes me cranky.  The shirt was nice though and I found an old pair of Opal earrings that were perfect.

I went to bed Tuesday night knowing I had everything under control.

And I really did have things under control.  Right up to the moment I hit the highway.  You see, I was driving The Viking’s truck, not my Rav 4.  I couldn’t take my vehicle because The Viking found a crack in one of the tires and some scuffs on the rim.

Him:  Did you hit a curb?!

Me (avoiding eye contact):  No.  Why?

Him:  The rim is scratched, and the tire has a big crack in it!

Me:  What?!

Him:  Did you let someone else drive your car?

Me:  No.  I mean Yes.

Him (giving me the stink eye):  Was it Junior?

Me:  No.  Yes.

Him (very loudly but not yet loud enough for him to call it ‘yelling’):  You let Junior drive your car?!

Me:  Yes.  I mean NO!  NO!  I didn’t let Junior drive my car.

Him:  …..

Me:  Oh for fuck’s sake!!  Yes I hit a damned curb!  Twice actually.  The first time it was bad city planning, and the second time it was Mim’s fault because she distracted me by talking while I was driving.

So.  I was driving the big 1-ton dually and it has significantly more horse-power which turns me into a shouting, fist-shaking, finger-flipping, hair-tossing Harpy.  I’m the sweetest driver on the planet when I’m driving my RAV, but Tina the Truck brings out the worst in me.  And someone taking 20 minutes in the fast lane to pass someone in the slow lane drives me bananas.  In the following 2 and a half hours I was forced to flip the bird to 4 drivers.

via GIPHY

And then one other driver flipped the bird at me.  As a matter of fact, they almost missed their exit so they could flip me the bird and that made my day.  You have to admire such commitment.

I was telling my one sister (she drives the big transport trucks) about my finger flipping and she said she’s had to use both of her flipping fingers so much they’ve become Arthritic.  She showed them to me.  “See?  Look at that poor little fucker.” (pointing with her other flipping finger).  True story.  A cautionary tale, if you will.

Due to construction and two freight trains my half hour buffer was toast, as was my early arrival allowance and I was forced into passing several vehicles that I normally wouldn’t bother with.  I could just see my father waiting at the door to the restaurant, tapping his watch.  “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you Lor?”  So, imagine my surprise when I arrived at precisely 1:54pm to find no one was there.  Please, dear Gawd, don’t let me have the wrong day!  I asked a waitress and she assured me there was a reservation for 10 at 2:00pm.  But that’s only 5 minutes away and no one has arrived.

As it happened, everyone in the family is much better at nailing the time perfectly because at 1:59pm Mom was carefully exiting my older sister’s vehicle while everyone else was waiting for 1:59:59 before stepping into the building.  Well…..I think that’s what they were waiting for.

Guess who wasn’t standing at the main doors tapping his watch?  That’s right…..Dad.  We all milled around wondering what could possibly have kept him from making inappropriate comments to waitresses, arguing with his daughters and being the center of attention?  Those are the main sources of his life’s joy so it caused mass confusion in the herd.

It turned out he had to be taken to the hospital.    He wasn’t doing well and we were all quite concerned.  Thankfully, he was fine – an infection and some COPD – and after annoying his roommate and, more than likely, annoying the nurses for two days, they sent him home.

As for my drive home, it was far less eventful because there wasn’t any pressure to be perfect.  No one was at home tapping his watch and shaking his head.  The Viking was happily playing computer slots and enjoying the solitude when I finally got home.  And…..he had a kiss on deck.

The Cats Are Pissed and The Viking gets a Brain Freeze

The Viking and I decided it was time to simplify our lives.  And then we promptly went about making our lives 100 times more complicated.  This involved making two 2500 km (1553 miles) trips to Lake Havasu City in Arizona within the space of a month and an additional trip to Mount Vernon, Washington.  All of this to sell our humungous Toy Hauler and buy a smaller trailer that has more living space.

There were cross-border inspections, and taxes and mountains of forms to fill out.  It’s been crazy, but at least we hit the peak and are heading back downhill.  Not a nice, un-catastrophic slide downhill, but more of giant, out-of-control run with arms flailing and girly screams.

The cats quit talking to us after the second trip.  Even Teddy – who normally loves me to pieces – isn’t giving me the ‘love eyes’ or purring – he’s just giving me wounded looks over his shoulder as he goes to Junior for his loves.  Izzie, on the other hand, transformed into an evil, angry, clawing succubus.  She’s already half feral on her father’s side and our absence gave her an excuse to completely embrace the wild side.  We managed to pull her back from the brink with several discussions, all of which involved her dangling by the scruff of her neck.*

There were good times during those dark days, though.  We got drunk at a hotel swimming pool and I fell off a chair.  To be fair, the chair was compromised before I ever sat in it.  A group of lady Norwegians on the other side of the pool were totally prepared to help me, but The Viking managed to get my laughing ass off the cement.

I made friends with a salesman at an RV dealership who appeared to really like my boobs.  Under normal circumstances I would be a bit offended, but the poor guy was so bedazzled he sold us the trailer waaaaay below what he should have sold it for.  My boobs saved us about $5000.  I let him have a hug as a consolation prize.  As for the boobs…..it’s about time they started to earn their keep.  Bras are expensive!

On another note:  This is a cat with a brain freeze.

via GIPHY

 

 

 

 

And this is The Viking with a brain freeze.

 

 

 

And here…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here….

 

 

 

I think we offended an elderly couple in a restaurant with our goofiness, but it’s okay, they were old and if anyone asked them to pick us out of a line-up I’m confident they wouldn’t recognize us.  Unless The Viking has a Brain-Freeze while they are looking.

We still aren’t completely Simplified but there is progress.  Our First Anniversary was last weekend, so we took our new-to-us trailer out for a spin and I have to say that it’s wonderful.  More than wonderful actually.  It’s brilliant.

Only a couple more items and we will be almost hassle-free.

 

*Please don’t get all shocked about this.  Izzie was taken from her mother when she was about 5 weeks old.  We almost had to get rid of her because she was a monster – attacking and biting and scratching everyone.  It was only the intervention of a couple other well-socialized cats and dealing with her bad behavior like a mother cat would do that saved her. 

I’m A Fucking Idiot!

I’m an idiot and my idiocy has taken me down the same damned black hole I’ve been in many times before.  You would think that I might have learned from the experience, but it seems not.  Even my horoscope tried to tell me not to meddle.  Did I listen?  Nope!  Because I’m a fucking idiot!

It happens like this:

  • Someone is crying like their heart has been broken into a million pieces.
  • I try to comfort with soft blankets, cookies, hugs and movies.
  • The crying subsides.
  • Being an observer from the sidelines, I try to encourage and empower.
  • They seem to appreciate the message.
  • They appreciate everything I’ve done.
  • They slide back into their situation, again.
  • I express concern.
  • They tell me that now I’m making them feel guilty which stresses them out more so they vow to avoid me for the foreseeable future.
  • I cry buckets for days until The Viking picks me up, dusts me off and helps me grieve.

And there it is.  The complete hot mess.  Someone goes happily on their way, stress-free, and someone hides in their closet for a week.  Repeat.

Except….FUCK THAT!!!  It’s time to start protecting my soul instead of throwing it out there for any dog to drag its ass on.

 

via GIPHY

I haven’t been able to write a damned post for over a month because I’ve been too invested in a bloody debacle that has catapulted me into a full-blown Depression.  And it’s affecting more than just a post – I’ve been bumping into walls and running stop signs as I’m frantically trying to find a solution that no one wants in the first place!

I’m sure there is a Life Coach out there that would tell me I’m not responsible for anyone else’s life, even if I created it years and years ago.  I can’t make their decisions, I can’t change their situations and I can’t solve their problems.  The only thing I can control is me and how I react to these situations.  At the end of every crisis, I’m always standing there like a fucking idiot as I’m being pushed out of someone’s life.  My inner voice is screaming “I thought we talked about this!  You weren’t going to help!  Gawd!  You’ve gone and shot yourself in the damned foot AGAIN!”  The outcome couldn’t be worse if I intentionally engineered it to be an epic failure.

The thing is…..this post isn’t about them at all……it’s about me and how I stupidly deal with these situations.  I’m here because I’m a fucking idiot that is always trying to help when that’s the last thing they actually want.  I’m my own worst enemy and I would be better served by keeping to myself and hope I never get that call in the middle of the night.

TRUTH BOMB:  Their life is exactly as they want it to be.  If they didn’t want their life to be the way it is, they would change it -with or without my help.  So, stop being a fucking idiot and leave them to figure out their shit.

Now, I’m moving forward, trying to put the whole steaming, foul mess out of mind.  I’m making a point of learning the lesson this time though.  No more attempts at assistance.  I promise.

I have no subject for an amusing post (sorry about that) because I haven’t found anything amusing for over a month.  But, I’ll get outside today, maybe take a walk.  I’ll attempt to distract myself and focus on The Viking and me.  Surely, I’ll feel better in a few days.  I’m already feeling better than last week.

Next post will be much less serious.  I promise.

 

 

Lady Sitter vs The Viking

 

It has become apparent that I need a Lady Sitter.  With my best and wonderful friends so far away, it’s difficult to fit in long coffee sessions complete with laughter, tears and hugs.  Something magical happens when women get together.  They share their pain, making the heartache easier to bare.  They share their anger and by doing so, rob it of its power.  They share their joy, tossing it in the air so it settles like fairy dust on everyone’s shoulders.  They share their humor, so laughter can chase away the darkness.  And they share their wisdom because their experiences are different than your experiences and maybe that small spark of knowledge will transform your life.  At the end of the day, every woman requires comfort that can only be found with other women.

And before anyone accuses me of sexism, let me just say that men probably need the same sort of thing but I’m a woman and have no deep knowledge of how men work beyond their stomach.  It’s not my area of expertise.  I can only guess that during long fishing trips or huddles on the sports field or in the deep recesses of Princess Auto or Home Depot, men confide in other men.  Maybe that’s what Rugby is all about – one giant Man Hug and then beating each other to a pulp.

Perhaps The Viking has a microphone attached to the air compressor and while I’m in the house putting this post together he is pouring out his anxiety regarding my cooking.  Maybe his frequent trips to the Parts Storage unit is a cover for a short but intense sharing of emotional trauma with some other guy that works from home and spends his entire life in his wife’s company.  Or perhaps it’s an Osmosis kind of thing whereby they just stand in the general vicinity of each other and suddenly their mojo is brand new again.  A King of the Hill sort of thing.

I bring all this up because I’ve found a thing that The Viking sucks at.  That’s right…..Mr. I’m Right All The Fucking Time has an Achilles Heel.  He’s not actually perfect.  I realized this problem last weekend.  We were having dinner out with friends and I had spent an hour and a half showering, applying make-up*, creating a hair masterpiece and pillaging my wardrobe for something to wear.  When I was finally done, I was feeling a bit like Cinderella on her way to the Ball.  I have lost a significant amount of weight and was hoping for a jaw drop or applause or a gentlemanly bow.  What I got was……..nothing.  Well, not quite nothing.  He said, “You look fine”.

A girlfriend or a Lady Sitter would have squealed in delight, called me ‘Girlfriend’ and twirled me around to see every angle.  They might offer a tweak here or there to maximize the affect.  They most certainly wouldn’t have given me half a glance and a grunt.

But, I’m a self-contained woman; one who doesn’t need compliments because I usually give myself my own compliments, Victory Dances and High Fives.  Unfortunately, it seems like I’ve burned through all my own self-congratulations and now find myself needing a compliment without anyone to give me one.

I understand that it’s not in The Viking’s character to hand out compliments, willy nilly, with complete abandon but, would it kill him to give me a “Great job, Babe!” or a “Wow!  That was a fantastic dinner!” or even a “Way to not fall down in the hallway!”?  Instead, I get “You’re going to burn it if you don’t turn down the heat” and “Don’t trip on that piece of litter in the hallway” and “Put that Box Cutter down right fucking now!”  Sure, it’s all great advice, but they aren’t compliments.

It is his only fault though; well, that and his propensity to throw tools when he gets frustrated.  Everything else about him exceeds my expectations.  And this is where I thought a Lady Sitter would come in handy.  I don’t need help with picking out drapes, but it would be awesome to have someone to go to the theater with, or a work-out pal, or a person to discuss Ancient Aliens with**.  And it wouldn’t hurt if he liked to cooked and vacuumed, either.

The rational part of my brain said, “Any good Lady Sitter would be hideously expensive, and we don’t have that kind of money laying around”.  With that being the case, maybe I could teach The Viking how to compliment me?  That shouldn’t be too hard; I’m quite easy to please.  Unfortunately, I’m a terrible teacher – just ask Mim about the ‘Math and Hair Brush Incident’.

So, I did what any rational person who is terrible at teaching would do.  I visited The World Wide Web and found this:

http://www.complimentgenerator.co.uk/

And then I thought, I have a vibrator and now a Compliment Generator so if I find a reliable jar opener I may be an island unto myself.  Hmmm…..that’s probably not true because The Viking:

  • changes the oil on my car
  • takes out the garbage
  • fixes everything that I break
  • cooks for me on Saturdays and if I accidentally pulls his pants down he’ll just keep on cooking with his pants around his ankles
  • he brings goodies home from the store
  • cleans the litter box (that on its own is worth keeping him around)
  • he sent me a dick pick once when he was away from home
  • eats all of the food I make even if it’s so bad I can’t eat it and
  • puts Band-Aids on my war wounds.

And now I feel ungrateful.  There is no reason I can’t pause before leaving the house and look up a compliment for myself.  I’m sure he would rather wait that couple of minutes if it means he doesn’t have to compromise his strict rules.  It’s probably because compliments embarrass him and he assumes they will embarrass me as well, which is totally not the case.

What ever the reason, I still need a compliment once in a while so I’ll bookmark The Compliment Generator on Google and be happy with that.  Really.  I will be just fine with an impersonal, computer-generated compliment that has nothing to do with subject I needed a compliment for.  Honest.  It will be fine.

 

*I rarely wear make-up any more except for occasions because…..well, there’s no reason for it.  The Viking just says “Why the fuck are you putting that shit on your face?”

**He doesn’t believe in Ancient Aliens!  In fact, he starts howling like a deranged Malamute to express his utter disdain for the subject when he catches me watching one on my computer.

I’ve Been Scolded

I hate lectures that revolve around bad habits and lack of effort. Okay…….to be clear, I enjoy listening to lectures that involve other people’s bad habits and lack of effort, just not my own. I would find it endlessly entertaining if someone attempted to lecture The Viking. I wouldn’t recommend it, but it would be entertaining to watch if only for the cursing and tool throwing. If you think you’d like to give this a try, please let me know in advance so I can have a comfortable chair, goggles, old clothes and a glass of wine on hand. And maybe a camera.

Where was I? Oh yes – lectures. I especially hate lectures given by Computer Gurus – they are worse than doctors and born-again Christians. They get that condescending look on their face and say things like “Did you plug it in?” and “When was the last time you cleaned it?” So when my computer needed a restart and it didn’t come back to life, I said, “What the FUCK?! Start, damn you!”

When that didn’t work I threw my hands in the air, rolled my eyeballs, and yelled, “My computer won’t start!!”

The Viking’s supportive, caring and encouraging response was “I TOLD YOU NOT TO PLAY THOSE FUCKING GAMES!!”

After poking and fiddling with it, he decided I blew the video card again. AGAIN! He muttered about my fucking games some more and then bought a new video card. He pushed the power……and nothing. “What the FUCK?! Start, damn you!”

I said, “That’s what I said!”

After exhausting all his ideas and most of his curses, he admitted defeat. “Call Tommy.”

I heaved a sigh & shuddered. “He’s going to yell at me.” The Viking didn’t seem to have a fuck to give about that.

When Tommy arrived I tried to run, but he saw me and said “Freeze, Lady!”

I said, “Aaahhhaaggg!” and waved my hands over my head in frustration.  He laughed because we both know what comes next: the Lecture.

“Do you shut it down every night?”

“No.”

“When was the last time, before this, that you shut it down?”

“Um……7…no, 8 months ago because it threatened me.”

“When was the last time you cleaned it?”

“9 months ago.”

“Do you play online games?”

The Viking decided to take Tommy’s side in the matter. “I told her not to play those fucking games! I told her!!”

Sigh. “Yeeees. I play online games.” Flipping my middle finger at The Viking. Traitor.

“You need this computer for work, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you still play online games with it?”

“Yes. But I have a good Anti-Virus program and Malwarebytes!”

“You do know that online games are played by millions of people and if they get a virus, then you’ll get a virus blah blah blah blah blah…..”  The only thing missing here was a metal table, handcuffs and a bare lightbulb swinging slowly back and forth overhead.

“Can you fix it?” Really, that’s all I want to know.

The short answer came 6 hours later. “No. You need a new motherboard, one of your drives is fine, one can be saved and the other one is toast. My advice: build a new computer.”

Of course that’s his advice.

So, now I’ve been scolded and I have to pay, at a bare minimum, $1500 for a new computer and all the fucking programs. Dammit!

Stupid computer! That’s the problem with machines: they are ungrateful bastards that look for the first excuse to fuck you over. How am I supposed to relax now? Read for 4 hours a day? I fall asleep after 3 pages of a book nowadays and then the tablet falls out of my hand and lands on my toes and then I swear a lot. I almost never fall asleep in the middle of a mission on my games. I suppose I could finish that damned Cross Stitch Baby Blanket project that has been in my closet for 11 years. Or worse, I could clean.

I wish I could point a finger at someone and blame them, but I can’t. No one forced me to play computer games, but in my defense, if computers weren’t intended to play games they shouldn’t be making games for them. I’m only human after all. How much control do they think I have? I already battle temptations involving chocolate and Toffifee and jewelry and cake and shoes.

Now I will have a computer that is useless for anything other than work.  Sigh. The Computer Gawds are no friends of mine. Apparently.

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Pains In My Ass

Izzie woke me up this morning – she started the exercise by dancing a German Polka on my stomach and ended with a sharp, single claw stab through the soft tissue in my armpit.  “OW!!  FUCK!”  In between those two events were whispered threats of the dire consequences should I not get out of bed and a fairly lengthy litany of curses.

I muttered a few curses of my own as I stumbled to the bathroom for my morning pee.  Izzie took a position on top of the vanity where she began poking my left cheek with increasing insistence while Teddy swarmed around my panties, purring and feathering my inner thighs with his tail.

“Teddy, I have paperwork to do – get out of my panties.  Gawd!  Quit poking me Izzie!  Geezus!  Teddy!  You’re not helping!  For fucksakes!  STOP POKING ME!!”

They want out, of course.  I slept in a bit and she’s late for her Queendom Inspection where she’ll be handing out Stink Eyes and slaps to anyone or thing that happens to get in her way.  She’ll belittle the two Labradors on the other side of the alley, the orange cat down the block will be mocked and she’ll stop to extensively cuss out Charlie next door just to set a precedent since he’s new to the neighbourhood.  And Teddy, bless his kind-of-dumb but sweet soul, will most likely follow behind at a safe distance apologizing.

When she returns from her reconnaissance she bellows for admittance into the house and then demands prolonged loves.  It was at that point this morning that I started to wonder why the fuck I even have pets?  Honestly, they annoy the hell out of me.

Over the years I’ve had quite a few pets and they have all been a nuisance in one way or another.  Dogs are needy and smelly and dirty and you have to pick up all the poo that is never in one convenient location but spread around the yard like Turdstools.

Birds…..well who really wants squawking, shitting, molting pets that fly around the house if they happen to get out of their cage.  I have enough problems without trying to catch a damned bird with a fish net.

Fish.  I had one of those Siamese fighting fish once which actually was fine.  I would say “Good morning” and wiggle my head back and forth and Norman would swim over and wiggle his head back and forth.  I really liked him; he lived in a small and pretty tank that was easy to clean and the fish food was cheap.  Unfortunately, Norman only lived for about a year and Norman 2.0 only made it 6 months.  I asked for a young fish next time but Norman 3.0 only lived for a couple of months so I gave it all up.  Fuck fish!

Hamsters.  Well I didn’t mind the one hamster I had.  Tubbs was a goofy and chubby little thing and was only awake during the night.  I accidentally killed him because I wanted to find a little house for him and when I couldn’t find what I wanted in the pet stores I decided to make one with a relish jar, fake jewels and spray paint.  RIP Tubbs (I think either the fumes killed him or he chipped the paint off the jar).  Tubbs 2.0 wasn’t nearly as sweet as Tubbs 1.0 and he bit me, the little fuck.  I gave him away to a friend – good riddance.

Cats!  I’ve had a few over the years and the only one I ever liked was the one I got strictly for the kids.  Guess who she ended up loving the most though?  Maggie was a great cat; she was sweet and clean and we didn’t bother each other except for the odd conversation.  She developed Kidney Disease though and I had to put her down.

Three years later I kind of wanted another cat.  Idiot.  Izzie was adorable but her personality turned out to be somewhere between Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Freddy Krueger.  It was a blood bath for nearly a year.  I have scars.  The Viking has scars.  Seriously.  Scars.

We finally convinced her to stop trying to kill us but she’s still loud and belligerent and she shouts curses at us and stares at us like we’ve tragically disappointed her..  Thank Gawd for Teddy who, despite his sweetness, manages to put up with her shit and curtails the worst of her homicidal tendencies.

And she’s a sneaky little shit, too!  She looks all sweet and love-y and approaches like she would welcome a chin scratch and just when you fall for it and put your hand out……SA-LAP!!……and she walks away laughing while you are cradling your severed hand to your chest.

All of this brings me back to my initial question of ‘Why the fuck I even have pets?’  I suppose it’s a moot point because there is no going back; we can’t get rid of them now.  Despite all the apologies we have to make we love Izzie.  And Teddy…..well, who wouldn’t like Teddy?  We’ve had to frisk people to be certain they don’t take him home with them.  It’s a package deal, people!  You take Teddy, you have to take Izzie too!

So, my giant pains in the ass won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.  Sigh.

Friday Fictioneers – Weren’t You Listening?

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  I can’t always add to the group but I do when I have the time.  The same goes for reading all the other great offerings – it takes a long time to get through them all.  If I miss you one week I try to catch you the next.  My apologies if I miss you more often.  I’m reading as fast as I can and my other jobs won’t always wait.

This week’s photo prompt has been supplied by Sarah Potter.

 

“I’m home, Babe!  Mom says hello!”

“I’m in the spare room!” He called back

The stairs creaked as she went up.  The hallway was dark but the spare room spilled more light than usual.

What the hell?!

He was caked in white powder; hair, face, clothes, shoes.  Drywall dust, obviously, because the next surprise was a transformed spare room.

The ugly green wallpaper had been replaced with delicate pink walls and white trim; crib, rocking chair, change table.

She caressed her belly and smiled gently.  “But it’s going to be a boy.  Weren’t you listening?”

“Wait! What?!  Ah, shit!!”

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