Thursday, 29 March 2012

Poor Hubby. And I'm an idiot.

Last night Hubby and I were preparing for bed - cleaning up the kitchen, feeding the cats, arguing about kitty litter, and the like. 

We were putting away the remnants from dinner, and I was packing the leftovers for my lunch at work (because the effing cafeteria is a renovation disaster, so they can't make all the food, not that the food was any good to begin with, but now it's just worse, unless I toast my own toast where every other person before me has left all their fucking dirty toast crumbs in the margarine). 

As I was packing up my lunch of left-overs, a thought crossed my mind.  And for those of you who are married (or something similar), you may know what it's like to live with someone and basically just blurt out every random thought because... well... because the other person is in earshot. 

Me:  You know what I've determined?

Hubby:  What?

Me:  That if I cook all the red peppers at night and then reheat them in the microwave at work the next day, they're way to soggy.  I'm much better off if I just cut RAW red pepper into my tupperware.  Then, when I warm up the pasta, the peppers cook just enough to be non-soggy. 

Hubby:  ?

Me:  Fuck you! 

Hubby:  What?!

Me:  That look on your face!

Hubby:  WHAT LOOK?!

Me:  That "fuck, did she really just tell me that whole thing, how do I keep a straight face" look.

Hubby:  Well, man!

Me:  WE'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 11 YEARS!!  THERE'S NOTHING INTERESTING LEFT TO SAY!

Hubby:  *Laughing hysterically*  How did you know my face?!

Me:  WE'VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 11 YEARS!!!  I KNOW THAT STUPID FACE. 

Hubby:  *annoyingly quoting my red pepper story*

Me:  *laughing, but wanting to punch him so taking off up the stairs*

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Cheesy Chicago

If you were on twitter last night, you may have noticed all the commotion.  There was basically an uprising - a rebellion against lameness and boring day-to-day life. 





That's right.  #CheesyChicago is a real thing.  I and my fellow cheesers Miss Sarcasm and Begging Answers have spent almost a year talking about this.  And now it has finally come to fruition. 

We have officially booked a bunch of rooms at the Palmer House hotel in downtown Chicago and we are takin on the town!  June 22-24, 2012.  Be there or be square. 

All the details are at Cheesy Bloggers, or you can email or tweet us/me anytime.

This is seriously happening, and it's seriously going to be more fun than you've had in years - probably.  We're going with or without you, but we don't want to go without you! 

Consider joining us.  Speaking from experience, there is nothing cooler than meeting up with blogger friends who know you, and understand you, and totally get your sense of humour.  Plus, what could be better than a weekend of deep dish pizza, endless laughs, and lots of beer?

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Some punk chick attacked me with a flamethrower!

FACT:  I. Am. Awesome.

Honestly. I make some seriously excellent, well-informed, and very intelligent choices.

I was writing my very heartfelt blog post Sunday night. When I finished, I was listening to my lovely song, and I set the laptop down on the coffee table - where it basically lives most of the time.

Later, when Hubby and I were heading off to bed, I began to close the laptop and snapped my hand back in utter dismay. The effer BURNED me. The hell?!

I looked down to find that I had left the friggin pisser sitting too close to my lovely purple Ikea candle, and I had therefore effectively melted the damn thing.

AWESOME.

Luckily it was just the plastic casing around the screen, and just in one spot. I think the monitor is ok, and everything else functions properly – so far – but now I’m forced to remind myself of my own fucking idiocy every time I use it. Not to mention that Hubby now insists on buying is own laptop. The shitty one can be mine, he says.

It was shitty before, but now with the giant melted hole in the back, it's basically a stupid piece of junk. Its outsides match its insides.

Actually, come to think of it, maybe it looks kinda badass – like maybe I used it to shield myself from a bullet. OR A FLAMETHROWER. I could definitely make up a pretty wicked story about a flamethrower.

By the grace of who knows what, Hubby wasn’t nearly as upset as I would’ve been had the stupidity been reversed. He basically just shrugged and declared how asinine I am.

“You’re a moron.”

Um, yeah.

Sunday, 18 March 2012

The time has come.

Well, my friends, the time has come. 

Last year I lost my shit.  I went nuts.  I had some wicked panic attacks and some flashes of miserable ideas.  I took a month off work.  I started seeing a shrink, and when that didn't work (fast enough), I started popping the crazy pills like peanut m&ms. 

First a small dose, then a medium dose.  And after about six weeks I began to breathe again.  Not every day.  Not all the time.  But the breaths came easier and the panic attacks were fewer and farther between.  The pain - terrifying crushing immeasurable intolerable pain - began to subside. 

Huh.  Well, that's a relief, isn't it?

I finally had room to get my life back on track.  I tried to get active (even if I almost killed my friend v in the process).  I diversified.  I got VOCAL. 

And then I got better. 

Not perfect (what the fuck does that even mean?), but better.  Softer.  Calmer.  Safer.  More aware.  Happier.  Gentler.  More honest.  Less ashamed.  Just... better.  Not only better than the bad days, but better than before

A better me.  A new me.

Still a lazy fucking bum, to be sure, but at least willing to acknowledge it and admit why.

Still a crazy wack-bat on more than one occassion, but at least able to limit my outbursts to a more opportune time (such as after Hubby falls asleep in the foreign hospital). 

Still weak sometimes.  Still working on it.  But stronger.  Wiser.  More... hopeful. 

So, the time has come.  The time has come to try stepping out without the crutch...  *cue doomsday music*  ...to slowly reduce my meds until I can hopefully function (reasonably well) without them. 

Holy SHIT I am terrified.  What if the bad days return? What if I want to sleep all the time? What if amazing Spring weather isn't enough to hold me up?  What if I have to go back to relying on Hubby more than I ever thought I would?

What if...?

Christ I'm not sure if I can do this. 

But I have to. I have to at least try.  I'm not the same person I was when I started boosting myself up with pills.  But how do I voluntarily give up the one thing that I knew would save me if I could just be patient enough for it to kick in? 

I want to.  I need to.  But how?


This song.  This song is me, speaking to myself. 



But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Monday, 12 March 2012

I'm a mess. A mess with a dirty mind.

I don't like busy weekends.  I much prefer to sit on my ass with my kickass iPhone and blame my boredom on the illusion that I have nothing interesting to do. 

This weekend, however, I booked myself solid.  For two reasons: 1) I do kinda hate being bored; and, 2) I have to get out into the world, diversify, have something other than work/twitter to look forward to. 

Friday night I went for drinks with coworkers.  My friend / former boss didn't stop me when I tried forced me to guzzle my beer, so it's fair to say I was a little giddy during the walk back to the bus station. 

Imagine my delight when we stopped at the beer store and I. GOT. CARDED. 

Carded, people.  Like, as if I was 18 or something. 

And then I laughed hysterically like a serial killer off her Ritalin for at least five minutes, thoroughly humiliating myself and my friend / former boss. 

I continued to giggle all the way to the bus stop. "Oh, Hubby will be so glad I bought him Guinness!"  And then I looked at my friend, and then into my bag, and then at my friend, and then into my bag...

Me: "Fuck."
Him: "Fuck.  I'll wait here.  You run!"

Dammit.  I had to run all the way back to that damn beer store to pick up the beer I was so blatantly gleeful about that I then FORGOT ON THE COUNTER. 

And then I ran back. 

And then I couldn't breathe for 20+ minutes. 

The rest of the weekend was in some ways an improvement from there. 

Saturday I waited 32 obnoxious minutes for my optometrist, who was EATING LUNCH.

But then I had dinner with my amazing friend LB and played with her two adorable babies.  I also cuddled her drooling cat, which is always a highlight for me.  But then our outing somehow caused the end of the world because her babies got fevers which can only be blamed on me. 

Sunday required a drive out of town for my best friend.  I'm her MAID (don't ever say matron) of HONOUR (don't ever say disgrace) and we went to a bridal show and lunch.  It was super fun and I even got Christmas/birthday gifts INCLUDING wine and peanut M&Ms, so there.  

Sunday night I studied for my French test which I later decided to delay until Thursday because I'm stupid.  Also, I'm unproductive because I spend way too much time laughing at crap like this:


Only you, my dear readers, will not judge me for my childishness here.
 

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

When in doubt, SHOW BOOB.

Four things made me smile today.  I have enumerated them here for your interest. 

ONE. 

Miss Sarcasm and I decided that if that Santorum ass bucket were to win the election, she would move up here to be my neighboUr.  On the other hand, if Obama wins, I will be moving down there.  But then we decided that she and I would just combine and rule the two nations ourselves.  The Stefanna Cheesedom of Canmerica.  With a national dish of poutine and Beyonce (chicken, not singer) on our coins.  And an "anti douche, anti idiot" statement in our citizenship pledge. 


Knock knock, motherfucker

TWO.

Hubby called me at work to report a suspicious vehicle on our street.  It was sitting parked with the engine running for several hours.  When an equally suspicious van approached, Hubby became particularly concerned.  And so, naturally, he called to ask me if alerting the police was overkill.  Because he's reasonable like that.  As much as I wanted to avoid a repeat of last time, I do hate weirdos.  "Hell, call the cops! Weirdos!"  Although it turned out to be nothing, I'm glad Hubby is monitoring the neighbourhood. 


THREE.

Miss Sarcasm told me to "show boob." Wait, what?  Ok, I have to do a presentation for a bunch of tenth graders tomorrow.  I'm supposed to talk about my boring career.  BORING. Unleeesssss I show boob.  Boob showing is always the highlight of any presentation.  Fact.   


FOUR.

Hubby texted me to ask if I wanted chicken alfredo for dinner.  This was good for two reasons:  first, I was hungry and had no intention of making any food; and, second, I was upstairs in the bedroom.  In other words, he offered to make me dinner, AND my kickass iPhone made it possible for me to accept said offer instantaneously.  WIN/WIN.  As an additional bonus, this was the best text conversation we've had in a while...



Sunday, 4 March 2012

I invaded Hubby's shower. Sorry?

Yesterday when Hubby and I woke up, we were pretty confident the house was going to get picked up and crash down in some far away land over the rainbow.  Except there was no effing rainbow out there, I can assure you of at least that much.  There was, however, WIND. 

SO.  MUCH.  WIND. 

A cold and nasty bitch was blowing at about 95 kilometres per hour. (Nearly 60, for my crazy American friends.) 

And thanks to the terrible recent news coming out of Indiana, as well as certain technicolour movies, I was terrified.  I couldn't stop imagining some giant tree smashing through my bedroom window, or the roof getting ripped off, or a pack of crazy flying monkeys coming to attack me. 

Basically, I was a tad jumpy

I'm sure you can imagine how much worse matters got when the apocalypse came.  Or the power went out.  Whichever. 

Me:  No! The power went out!
Hubby:  Uh huh. 
Me:  We should have showers! The hot water tank is going to fail us momentarily!
Hubby:  It's gas.  It'll be fine. 
Me:  Oh. 

It was around this time that I got distracted by the fact that my kickass iPhone was running low on battery power.  While I was busy considering driving around the block to charge my phone in the car, Hubby had started the shower and was searching the house for a flashlight. 

Me:  At least turn off the water! You're wasting it!
Hubby:  Honey.  There will be plenty of hot water.  I need a flashlight. 
Me:  Fine.  Hurry up though, dummy. 

And then it happened. 

Hubby, yelling from the shower:  Did you flush the toilet?!
Me:  No, why?
Hubby:  Uh... I think the hot water is running out!
Me:  Are you kidding?!
Hubby:  Um, no!

God dammit.  He KNOWS how a Wifey without a hot shower (twice a day, at least) is a very unhappy Wifey.  He KNOWS Wifey will be pissed if Wifey can't wash her hair.  He KNOWS that if there's no hot water after he said there would be, Wifey's gonna lose her SHIT. 

He also knows Wifey is certifiably nuts

Which is why I guess Hubby wasn't particularly surprised when a panicked and crazy Wifey ran into his bathroom, dropped her pjs, and jumped into his luke warm shower. 

Yeah. 

It turned out that the hot water was fine, and by the time we got dried and dressed, the power was back on.  Also, interestingly, and thankfully, our house didn't actually blow away. 

Huh.  So... my fear wasn't entirely rational, then?  WEIRD.