A few weeks back I was reading an older post from The Bloggess.  Thinking it would be of interest to Peter and being the super awesome kind person I am, I thought I would share it with him via text.  As always, that’s where it went wrong.  Nobody ever seems to appreciate my generous spirit.  This sums Peter and I up nicely though, on this, the day we celebrate 20 years together.

Me: a post for you – the bloggess

Me: Thought you would totally not appreciate this but appreciate it but not really.

Me: English is more better fun in my head.  Want in?

Peter: ?

Me: Are you questioning the link or my english or the fact that clearly you won’t actually fit inside my head so unless we find a way to shrink you like Rick Moranis did with his kids or like in Archer or Innerspace or holy crap, there is a whole lot of shrinking going on and this can’t possibly not be happening in real life if it so prominent in pop culture cause I’m pretty sure that’s how things work and if shrinking is really going on we should probably tell Jules so she can finally live in Travis’s blood, except that I forget she’s not real sometimes and that’s a TV show and that Courteney Cox is already so tiny I could fit her in my pocket and carry her around like other women do with small dogs and purses, but if she could fit in my pocket than she totally might be able to fit in my head, except how would she get in as all the holes in my head are smaller than the actual capacity of my head.  Plus, my brain is in there.  That’s gotta be taking up a little room at least, but I’m totally losing focus here as I was never trying to get Courteney into my brain in the first place and we were talking about you, and now I sorta feel sorry for bringing it up as this probably isn’t going to happen and now you are going to feel sad about all the awesomeness you are going missing out on by not getting into my mind and I’ve completely forgot what this was about.  I’m sorry, what were you questioning?

Peter: I was questioning who this was given the lack of contact info, but I think I can conclude it’s the woman I love or a shockingly good impersonation of her

Me: Huh.  Questioning who and not your level of love for me.  Well, that’s a first.

Me: Wait.  Maybe you aren’t who I think you are.  Quick!  Share anything romantic I have ever said to you.

Peter: …

Peter: “Seriously?”.  That was kinda romantic

Peter: Almost

Peter: I got nothing else

Me: You are forgetting the time I told you I brought out the trash and it made me think of you.  I don’t think you are prioritizing romantic right, but I will take “seriously?” as my response to your proposal as an acceptable answer.

Peter: Love you

Me: Okay.  There is clearly no need for that level of PDA and by PDA I mean public display of affection, not personal digital assistant or patent ductus arteriosus.

And by public, I mean that I am totally going to put this on my blog cause people should know what I have to deal with and give me all kinds of sympathy.

And by public, I mean the one of two people who read my blog, one of which is you, but as I’m introverted and try to keep my contact with the outside world of people limited, that still seems like a fairly high number and so there’s no need to get all gross and mushy as I fear this will only lead to things like not sitting at opposite ends of the couch with a cat buffer in the middle.  We’re only coming up on twenty years together and I’m just not there yet.  Seriously.  Stop with the pressure already.

Peter: <unsubscribe>


Happy 20th anniversary Peter.  Brace yourself…

I love you.

And thank you for not unsubscribing, though I should probably confirm you still follow this.  I might be thanking you for nothing.

I need to go wash my mouth out with soap now.

ps: peter claims I was ‘accidently’ deleted from his contacts as he had phone issues. This happens a lot. I don’t think he knows how phones work.

pps: I’d like to point out that for all the grammer mistakes that where highlighted as I wrote this, not once did it tell me I had a run on sentence.





There are days when you want to celebrate the teeniest of tiniest accomplishments and the best-est (most treacherous) of friends will support you with that, inspire you, and even help inadvertently create public awareness of a lost art.

Me: I did it!  I showered!  Aren’t you proud of me?
Now if only I can find pants, I can go get some onions to make my soup.
Onward ho!

Me: Pants, oh pants.  Wherefore art thou pants?

A: I have them!!  Tee hee hee (evil laugh)

Me: How rude.  THIEF!!!!

A: Mmmmuuuuuuhhhhhaaaaaa

Me: Oh how you will rue the day!!

Me: (please do.  please rue something.  there just isn’t enough ruing anymore)

A: Hmmm… what shall I rue?

Me: The day (this really couldn’t be any clearer)
The day I take revenge on you and your pant stealing ways

A: Oh, the day. The day. Ok fine. I rue the day!!!

A: I steal your pants and I rue the day!

Me: Evil!

A: (that better?)

Me: I’m on my way to the store in spite of your evil efforts.  Apparently I own more than one pair of pants.  And yes, I feel much better.  Together we shall bring back ruing!!!

A: On my way to library.  Must find “How to Rue for Dummies”

Me: If it isn’t there, I think we may have just stumbled upon a wonderful need and writing opportunity!

A: Yes, yes, yes.  It may explain why ruing is in such short supply today.

Me: It’s just so sad really

And now it’s up to you.  Only you can prevent forest fires bring back the art of rue. (Clearly advertising has no impact on me – though I think I may have just proven the effectiveness of public service announcements and now I feel confident with total RUE integration.  It’s coming back people.)


Alternate title ‘why you shouldn’t text me on tattoo day’

Peter: Flipped money into joint account. Will add more when bills are paid tomorrow

Me: So if there’s time left, I can totally get another tattoo. Sweet!

Peter: Um, no

Me: No Peter.  I think you’re wrong.  It is sweet.

Me: I’m now ignoring texts for the rest of the day as I’m quite busy and I suspect they won’t be to my benefit

Me: Unless it’s about what liqueur to buy.  I will acknowledge texts for that.

Me: But only that

Me: I’m using ‘selective vision’ for the rest of the day

One of us clearly needs to get their priorities in order.

IMG_0515-001 (Medium)

for grandpa

They’re my family and they have to love me, though why they still talk to me is a bit of a mystery.

It started innocently enough with a text to my siblings late last month suggesting that a desk weasel would make a good prezzie for me as I am re-doing my work space and it would be perfect (so long as no one mentions it to Peter).  I can’t say I was surprised when my sister more or less ignored me and moved the conversation in another direction, but what I hadn’t expected was my brother-in-law’s participation. He clearly hasn’t been in the family long enough yet to learn not to engage with me.  I suspect that will soon change.

To be fair, I think my sister may have been baiting him for her own amusement.  She included him in the the group text, then quickly left the conversation after opening with this:

Robin: My house threw up Christmas

Me: Xander (one of my cats) threw up all over my house.  It’s kinda the same right?

Phil: Not really as the house threw up a tree with lights and ornaments, etc. Stockings hung…

Me: Xander made pretty colours too – I mean we do feed him pumpkin. I think it’s unfair to assume he didn’t put the same effort into creating something fantastic and beautiful. You’re clearly being Christmas decorating exclusionary and I think you should apologize. Stop being a cat hater. Xander loves you. Where’s the love Phil, where’s the love?

short time later

Me: Phil, I have just gotten in trouble from Peter for trying to shame you over Xander’s decorative vomiting efforts. As an apology, I am packing up all the sparkly Xander vomit (I added glitter) and sending it to you. You will now have the most amazing Christmas vomit house ever as I am no longer deserving of such things. I hope you can forgive me.

Me: I haven’t run this apology past Peter yet, but I can’t imagine any fault to be found by him as I am giving up so much in my efforts to right my wrong. As he left the room while I was writing this, I can only assume he knew I would do a good job.

Phil: Shall I send that apology and the link to the weasel you want for Christmas to Peter. Think he’ll find it amusing?

Me: Touché

Me: Except I already showed Peter the weasel and told him I asked for it from everybody I know in spite of the warning under the video that says weasels are not good pets and this one is just a rescue – don’t get a weasel. I want a weasel.

Me: As for the apology, I think Peter will not be the least surprised. He knows how super duper generous and giving I am and would expect nothing less.

Phil: Oh, I know… locking up the Crown Royal Apple now. Is there any environmental coal option for your stocking instead.

Me: The only bigger, better apology I can come up with is sending you Xander himself. Then you get ALL the vomit. A Christmas miracle and it’s only November.

Phil: Ok, I’m going to drink all the Crown Apple now.

Me: I’ve never had Crown Apple. It seems kinda rude to drink it all and not even let me try some. I think you may owe me an apology now for your lack of consideration of my thirst. I’ll accept a bottle of crown apple as your sorry. Hey, maybe the apple and the vomit will cross paths on the way to their new homes.

Phil: Maybe. I don’t need the vomit though.

Me: Fine. Since you don’t seem interested in my awesome apology, I will not send you sparkly cat vomit, but in doing so, you acknowledge that not sending you vomit is my apology and I am now forgiven.

Me: You also acknowledge that anything lacking in your Christmas decor is not a reflection of the amazing job I am sure Robin has done, but is because you chose not to complete your holiday cheer with vomit (something I have yet to experience).

1/2 hour later

Me: Hey Phil, Willow just threw up.

Me: Was it just Xander’s vomit you objected to, cause I have another option for you now if you are interested

Remarkably, Phil hasn’t blocked or deleted me from his contacts (a fact which I am grateful for), but I think it’s clear that one of us truly gets the generous spirit of the season more than the other.

At the very least, one of us understands how not to decorate for the holidays properly.



Peter– Target just announced bankruptcy in Canada. Time to load up on kitty litter

Me– The life we lead is so WILD!

Peter– Fine. I’ll grab some vodka on my way home. Tonight we’ll get drunk and find a pimp to kill

Me– Do we get to keep the whores!?!

Peter– Only if you promise to actually take care of them yourself. I’m not going to be the one feeding them or cleaning up after them

Me– We’re going to need a much bigger litter box!

My thrilling friday night?  Filled with its usual stimulating conversation and oh so witty banter.

Now I know I shouldn’t go around flaunting my intellect, but sometimes I get the urge to try to make people jealous.  I say try because I clearly have no idea what other people may actually be envious of.

Peter: I’m having a cookie.

Me: I had one early this morning before I made pasta for breakfast.

Peter: Before you made what?

Me: Pasta.

Peter: I thought you said plaster

Me: Oh, that’s right.  I got plastered for breakfast.

Peter: That sounds more like it.  Much more believable.

And then we went to bed to read.

Feeling better about however you spent your evening?

You’re welcome.

ps.  Did you notice how high Peter’s opinion of me is?  Bet you really are jealous now.

pps.  You have the occasional breakfast martini and it’s never forgotten.

It’s been a bit of a rough year for one of my friends and her teeth, and this week her cat joined in on the fun. The week started with her poor cat having eight teeth removed, and ended with my friend’s previously fixed teeth breaking.  Badly.

The minute she walked into class you knew something was wrong and, of course, being the kind-hearted wonderful beings that we belly dancers are, we all rushed in with comfort and sympathy and talk of lawyers because her dental surgeon is an ass.  And then one of the girls offered to walk past his office and fart.

Sensing that perhaps this wasn’t quite strong enough she upped it to entering his office and shitting on the floor.

And she was for real.

And this is why I love my friends!

Oh yeah, there was also a conversation about who’s going down.  It may have been started by me.  But this was in reference to choreography and had nothing to do with anything sexual you sick freaks.  It’s not that kind of dance.

Though if you’re looking for that sort of thing, I can recommend a good place in montreal.  It specializes in extremely apathetic dancers, performers, women who eventually saunter on to stage and can’t keep their disillusionment with life out of their expressions, but still have the ability to occasionally kick a leg up into the air or wrap it around a pole and spend some time with each other ‘down there’.

Don’t expect any I’m-loving-this porn moaning.  These girls have clearly lost the ability to express pleasure.  Even the fake kind.

You know, now that I think of it, it’s probably not worth the time and money to go.  You’d be better off just watching porn.  So rent, buy, go to your secret supply under your bed or in the back of your closet, because even the worst porn has to be better, and clearly if your reading this, you have internet access and there may be something available there.

If you really need that ‘live’ experience, stand naked in front of a mirror.

Trust me, it would be more exciting.

%d bloggers like this: