I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter!

Archive for January, 2008

In lieu of writing an actual post, a meme all about ME

40 Secrets About Yourself
Be HONEST no matter what!

1.What’s your natural hair colour?

It is brown. Just normal old brown. Dark brown.

2. Where was your default pic taken?

My avatar is an old retro thingy, with a woman saying ‘Being a Crabby Bitch is Part of my Charm’. I feel it really represents me. I dont know where it was taken, but I stole it off of a website, cuz I’m badass like that.

3. What’s your middle name?

Rochelle. Talea Rochelle. Though I don’t think Rochelle suits me at all, I kind of like the way my name sounds when you say it out loud. It’s better than the standard ‘Ann’ or ‘Elizabeth’ or ‘Mary’.

4. Your current relationship status?

Um, living in sin? Been with the boyfriend for 8 years, don’t buy into the idea of marriage for the sake of it, I kind of think it’s just a waste of money I don’t have. So we’re common law. But I like saying that I live in sin better.

5. Honestly, does your crush like you back?

The fact that he lives with me, has seen me at my nastiest, has put up with me at my worst and has dealt with my totally insane family and wacky friends leads me to believe that somewhere, deep down, he has a bit of a thing for me. It’s my hunch.

6. What is your current mood?

Very hungry. My stomach is rumbling in a violent manner and I’ve resorted to nibbling at the skin on my thumb. Shut up, I know you do it too.

7.What color underwear are you wearing?

I had to check, which is a risky manouver in a reception area, but they are a black thong with a silver snowflake on the front. Yes.

8.What makes you happy?

Red wine, the boyfriend, the puppy, my friends, my knitting, a good book, walking up and down Queen Street aimlessly in the summer with a coffee in my hand and nowhere to be, hiking up North, visiting the prairies, smelling outside after it rains, sunlight, displays of good parenting (weird, but true), talking to my Grandma and Aunt, getting paid, eating out, finding pants that fit, having conversations in the dark in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping, getting unexpected time off, having the  house alone to myself, eating, pastries, pie and macaroni and cheese, people buying me stuff and sleeping. That’s just a sampling, really. I’m kind of easy to please, it makes life much easier.

9. There wasn’t a number nine when I stole this one. Not sure if there was one when the one I stole got stolen. 

10. If you could go back in time, and change something what would it be?

Oh god. I could name a whole list of shit that I would change, cuz a bunch of stuff has sucked thus far. But then that would alter everything else occurring after it and then I wouldn’t be here writing this blog meme. So my answer shall officially be: nothing. However, going to university was a total waste of my time and I wouldn’t have minded not being there. Just saying.

11. If you MUST be an animal for ONE day- what would you be?

Hmmmmm. I think I would like to be……Zoey, my puppy. She has a great life, she’s skinny and young and gets away with everything.

12. Ever had a near death expeirence?

Um, that’s kind of a harder question to answer than you would think. I dont know, really. I shall move on now.

13. Something you do a lot?

Read, knit, sleep, criticize, mock, laugh condescendingly, daydream.

14. What’s the name of the song stuck in your head right now?

I don’t have one in my head.

15. Who did you copy and paste this from?

Emerald, cuz she tagged me.

16. Name someone with the same b-day as you?

Um, I’ve never met anyone with my birthday. There’s some famous race car driver though….Mario Andretti? I think that’s him.

17. When was the last time you cried?

I dont really remember, but I do remember it was less than a month ago. Sometimes I get pretty down and it all just sucks and when the boyfriend asks me what’s up, I just lose it. It was probably right after Christmas when I realized I really don’t have a relationship with my parents. I dont know a damned thing about them and they don’t know a fucking thing about me. It is what it is, but if I’m in enough of a ‘mood’ it seems pretty lame.   

18. Have you ever sang in front of a large audience?

Um, no. I mean, I was in the school choir in like, grade 5 and under, but let’s be honest….nobody was listening to us when we were up there.

19. If you could have one super power what would it be?

I would like to be able to…..be invisible, me does think. Because I am nosey and I would like to spy on people I hate, just to make sure their lives suck and people say mean things to them.

20. What’s the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?

Skin colour (hey, it’s Toronto dude…..and plus, I’m brutally honest, what do you want?), then hair/eyes/smile all in one swoop. I also notice if they smell good or not. If I’m in smelling range, that is.

21. What do you usually order from Starbucks?

One of two things. Either a tall, non-fat green tea latte, or a tall, non-fat chai latte. Maybe a tall white mocha, but not too often. I’m an ex-ballerina, I am cursed with watching calories obsessively.

22. What’s your biggest secret?

Yeah fucking right. Like I’m going to spill that on my damned blog, open to the public and read by people I know in real life. Keep dreaming. BUT, I will admit to one horribly embarrassing secret!! Ready?
I used to LOVE Hanson. The band. The three brothers. OBSESSED. I had pictures covering my walls. As in, you could not see what colour my wall was. Every cent I made through crappy babysitting gigs went to buying magazines with their posters/pics. I was embarassed at the time, too. I was so terrified that I’d spot someone I knew and then my secret would be out. It was an awful way to live, truly.

Observe, this is what a certain friend made and posted on Facebook without my knowledge after discovering this secret:

That would be me in the bottom right….Hanson is everybody else.

23. What’s your favorite colour?

I dont’ have one. Geez, I already posted that once. Come on!

24. When was the last time you lied?

Hmmmm. I actually don’t lie. I know you don’t believe me, but Emerald can vouch for me. I am incapable of lying. Unless it’s to send someone south instead of north (where’s the CN Tower? ‘oh, you’ll want to head way up north on Yonge!’), cuz then I get a kick out of it. But I very rarely lie. I don’t see a point, and I don’t live a life that’s shady enough to require lying.

25. Do you still watch kiddy movies or TV shows?

No. I don’t like children and I really don’t like programs aimed at their drooling mental capabilities. I hate kids shows nowadays, don’t get me started.

27. What are you eating or drinking at the moment?

Nothing. The skin around my thumbnail. I’m staring lustfully at some cupcakes though. But I dont want to eat those while I type, cuz I’ll get icing all over the keyboard.

28. Do you speak any other language?

No. I’m very good at communicating with other cultures though, via my terrible death stares and eye rolls and gesticulating hand gestures.

29. What’s your favourite smell?

I dont know. I can’t pick a favourite. Too many yummy things.

30. If you could describe life in one word what would it be?

Obstacley. As in, full of obstacles. Some of which I am grateful for, others which I am not, but all of which I appreciate because I know they are there for a reason.

31. When was the last time you gave/received a hug?

Hmmmm. Probably when I was drunk. I only allow people to touch me when I am drunk. I hate it when people touch me. HATE. IT.

32. Have you ever been kissed in the rain?

Um, probably. But not in some romantic fashion. It was probably a good bye peck if anything. 

33. What are you thinking about right now?

Eating these fucking cupcakes beside me, which are taunting me without abandon!!

34. What should you be doing?

Nothing. I’m sitting up at reception so that Emerald can have lunch. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do…waiting for the phone to ring.

35. What was the last thing that made you upset?

Most things tick me off in one way or another, to varying degrees. However, there was an incident this morning that really pissed me off, but I can’t mention it in a public forum. You never know who reads these and how they may be connected to my work.

36. How often do you pray?

I do not have a set schedule. Once in a while, I just say a few words to get them off my chest.

37. Do you like working in the yard?

I love it. Unfortunately, I do not have a yard. I have a concrete balcony which looks out onto an alley. Lots of drunk kids leaving the clubs at night like to pee in said alley. Anyways. I love working in the garden. I’m a plant freak, I can name them all in Latin and give you their growing requirements and habits and blah blah blah. I’m fascinated by trees and plants really.

38. If you could have any last name in the world, what would you want?

I dont know. I hate my last name and the boyfriend’s is pretty shitty too. Let’s go with Smith. My last name ALWAYS gets mispronounced and I’d like one that doesn’t.

39. Name 5 things in your closet.

Clothes, my comforter cuz it’s too hot and I dont sleep with on the bed, an old printer, ballet slippers and a box of random crap that I haven’t unpacked since moving in in August. Sorry, no fun stuff.

40. Do you act different around your crush?

I don’t have a crush. I’ve already roped him in.


I am now off to consume cupcakes in a disgusting manner, usually reserved for starving dogs.

If I was Martha Stewart, I’d refer to this as a ‘Good Thing’

I’m a lazy individual. I dont’ profess to be anything else. I embrace my laziness. I like to fool myself into believing that by living this lazy, low exertion lifestyle, I’m adding years to my life. Stress makes you die faster, and though I’m far from unstressed, I don’t need to stress myself out any more.

Once I get home from my job, which is a 45 minute subway ride away in a neighbourhood I loathe, and it is dark out, my day is over. Once I get through that door and into my pyjamas, that’s it, I’m not going out again. I am parking my ass on the couch and wasting time until bed. Often, the wasting of that time involves napping, knitting, blogging, TV watching, etc etc etc. It’s an exciting life I lead.

What that time wasting will not include, because I am lazy, is getting up and dressed and getting back on the subway to go to the grocery store. Oh sure, I’ll TELL myself I’ll do it. I logically know that it’s the best way to go in terms of health and money. I tell myself I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna gooooo to the grocery store, cuz buying lunch every day at work is pricey. I tell the boyfriend that we will go. I even have delusions that it will be fun to dance up and down the aisles, looking at new products and thinking of fun things I could do with them.

Then I remember that I’m lazy. And that I’m already comfortable. That it’s cold outside and that I don’t cook, so it doesn’t matter how many pretty products are going to be there, adorning the aisles. Even if I buy them, I’m only going to let them gather dust for 2 years before I throw them out, cursing the waste of perfectly good money.

I realize that I’ll just end up buying the same stuff I do every single time. Then I’ll probably realize that it’s really late already and even though the grocery store is open 24 hours, the selection is craptastic late at night. Plus, the boyfriend is sleeping and he gets cranky when he gets woken up, so it’ll be even later when we actually get there. Then I remember that I’ll have to fight with idiots who have carts and try to drive them around and that there is currently no licensing process required to drive a cart, so they’ll probably smash into my cart or drive ahead with their head turned and this will piss me off. Then I remember I’ll have to wait in line at the cash and that the cashier will become stumped by a bunch of bananas or a bag of sugar or something and I’ll have to wait for price checker boy to put down his outdated porno mag and go look up the code for it.

Then I think about having to haul the shit UPHILL to the subway station, lift it over the stupid turnstiles while trying to show the collector my metropass and deal with trying to find a seat big enough to allow me, my bags and the boyfriend to sit down. I will inevitably curse myself for buying laundry detergent or toilet paper at the grocery store, since they are a bitch to carry and I could have bought them at the convenience store downstairs, though they would have charged up the ass.

And, despite my amazing intentions and my desire to save money, I will not go to the grocery store. I will order in supper or go out and I will buy lunch tomorrow. So will the boyfriend.

Then I had a brilliant idea. I went online to Grocery Gateway’s website and ordered my fucking food from there, like the civilized urbanite I am. Hauling groceries around is for suckers and shmucks. I am neither.

Folks? It was miraculous! You go on their website, you search their products, you tell them what you want and the food shows up at your fucking door! Like magic! You dont’ even need to pay ahead of time! They take debit at the door!

Holy shiznat! What the hell have I been doing all these years?? Last night was the first time we used them, and I am never going to a grocery store again. They hauled it, they packed it, they brought it into my house. And I loved them for it. It is SO WORTH the $10 delivery fee that they charge. Ten bucks? DONE! I spend that each day on a shitty lunch, which is $50 a week, plus snacks and crap. By giving them ten bucks, I save myself over $40. I have lunch sitting in my office right now! That I didn’t buy from the food court! And I also didn’t have to go out and get it! It just CAME TO MY DOOR!

SWEEEEEEEET. Grocery Gateway, I love you. I am now your slave. You are most definitely the greatest thing that’s happened to me in a long time.

Love, Talea.

Blah. So very, very blah.

I’m not feeling it today. I’m just not.

Actually, I’ve been not feeling it for about a week and a bit. I blame the total lack of sunshine lately. I heard somewhere that Toronto got 20% less sun than usual for January and then I heard somewhere else (okay, two senior citizens chatting on the subway), that we only got somewhere around 40 hours of sun this month. I pretty much saw none of those.

I get up and it’s dark. I get ready and I eat breakfast and it’s dark. I take the dog out and it’s dark. I go to get on the subway and it’s dark. I get to work and it’s starting to lighten up. I look longingly out the windows near the elevators before I go upstairs. I work in my office, which is an interior office and has no windows. I spend a lot of time hanging out in reception, which also has no windows. I meander down the hall to the bathroom, which has no windows. I go down and get some lunch, get the mail, no windows. I get back on the subway which is obviously underground. Still no sun. I emerge from the subway around 6 o’clock, and the sun is a distant memory by that point.

Okay! I’m all done now! I’ve had enough winter, you can bring spring and summer back!

The entire city of Toronto is cranky. And Torontonians are a persnickety fucking bunch to begin with. Now, when you get on the subway or just walk down the street or into a store, you are leered at. People look at you like they want to kill you and just stare you down as you go about your life. It’s cuz we’re all fucking starved for sunlight. Ever hear of Seasonal Affective Disorder? Shit, if you live in Canada, it’s almost inevitable. The thing is, when everyone is pissy, you just get pissier, and then it gets to be an angry pissing contest. This isn’t good.

It’s all I can do not to scream at everybody in my path lately, and I’m choosing to make winter my scapegoat. It’s just stretching out forever. And it’s a leap year dammit!! I have one more damned day to get through!

 I’m telling ya, if I had a car, I’d be getting into it and driving. Just driiiiiiving away. South, preferably. If I had enough money, I’d be quitting the job and hibernating in my nice warm bed until sunnier times. This city is driving me mental, but I can’t escape to the country cuz it’s just filled with fucking fields of damned snow. Cripes.

I’m so over wearing a huge scarf everywhere. I’m really tired of having to ‘ice walk’ so that I don’t fall on my fucking ass. I hate having to wear my boots. I’m getting sick of the salt stains on the bottoms of my pant legs. I can’t drink any more warm drinks. The indoor heating is killing me. And for the love of all things holy, where in the hell is the SUN???


Could someone please wake me up in May?

My first hate: Gym class

Through all of the memories of school, one thing really remains consistent in my mind.

My absolute, pure and undiluted hatred for gym class.

I do not recall ever enjoying a single gym class. And it wasn’t cuz I was the fatty fat who nobody picked to be on their team. No, it was just because I hated it. If there’s one thing people learn about me quickly, it’s that I know what I hate and I hate it wholeheartedly. The next thing they figure out is that I don’t hide my emotions very well.  At all. Sometimes it gets me in trouble, but that’s another post for another time.

And now, a timeline of my gym-related hatred (imagine me doing that finger wiggling thing from Wayne’s World, as I transport you into the past):

  • My first memory goes so far back that I do not actually have anything to rely on but my first grade report card. It states IN WRITING and I quote, “Sometimes Talea refuses to participate in gym class. She sits down and when I ask her why, she simply shrugs her shoulders and says, ‘I don’t know.'” End quote.
    I do not even remember doing that, but holy shit am I ever proud of myself! What kind of five year old has those kind of balls? Hell no, I won’t play your stupid gym games! Ha!
  • Grade 3. We were just entering the Volleyball unit. If I had to pick a sport in this world that I hate the absolute most, volleyball would come out on top with no hesitation at all. Gym was the first period of the day I remember, and every day for three weeks, I told my teacher I didn’t feel well. She’d feel my forehead and it’d be hot (cuz it always is) and then she’d let me sit out. She asked me why my parents always sent me to school if I felt so sick all the time. I played dumb. I’m surprised my parents didn’t get in trouble.
  • Grade 4: We were playing stupid dodgeball and I got hit. Mostly cuz I wasn’t trying. Whatever. So as I ran across the middle to go stand in the loser section at the back, this kid named Al tripped me. I fell and sprained my wrist. I couldn’t write for weeks, which was a total downer for a goody two shoes like me who loved school.
  • Grade 6: This was the year we had to start changing for gym class. Apparently we were growing up and starting to develop ‘body odour’ amongst other things. I remember one day going into the change room, taking off my t-shirt and being horrified to discover I’d forgotten to take off my pyjama shirt earlier that morning. I’d just thrown on my baggy, late-90s style shirt on over top of it. It was embarassing. I know, that has nothing to do with gym really, but I think it’s funny.

I’m tired of giving specific memories, so the timeline shall stop in Grade 6. But I’ll continue talking about my general attitudes in gym class.

I mentioned earlier that I wasn’t the fat kid who got picked last, which is true. No, I got picked last cuz all my classmates knew damn well how much I hated gym. I was totally that bitch who would stand there on the volleyball court and as the ball came right to me, I’d stand there and watch it hit the ground. I’d stand out in left field during baseball and totally let the ball fly by me, forcing the centre fielder to go get it. I’m sort of a stubborn mule about stuff I hate. Nobody wanted me on their team, cuz I was basically dead weight. I accepted that and was not offended at all. I was pleased with my reputation as the worst person to have on your team. I’d stand right on the dividing line in dodgeball and stand there with my arms wide open, totally willing to be hit so that I could just stop playing. Team player, right here!

I got into countless arguments with teachers about gym. I’d argue that the Board of EDUCATION should not care about my physical well being. I did ballet outside of school and was in very good shape, couldn’t I go read or something while these other fools practiced line dancing? They never bought it. But I did manage to waste 5 minutes of class time.

Just as much as I hated gym and the useless sports we were forced to play, I hated the kids who loved gym class. These fucking losers were probably the biggest reasons I hated gym class. They seemed to think that the 55 minutes of games were life and death.

They’d SCREAM at me when I’d just look at the ball fall beside me, as though I was a quadraplegic.

They’d grunt when they hit the hockey puck or jumped to score a basket or whipped the ball at someone’s head. Who grunts?! Animals and jerks, that’s who.

They’d try and tell their teammates what to do, like this was the freaking Superbowl and they really needed their team to focus and have a plan. It’s fucking Grade 3 soccer! Cripes! Calm down!!!

In high school (grade 9 and 10, once you hit grade 11, gym was no longer mandatory!!!) we had to do fitness testing four times a year. This involved weight lifting, flexibility, push ups, sit ups, and the dreaded ‘fitness run’. The fitness run was HELL. It was running 12 laps around the double gym as fast as you fucking could and you got scored on your time. It was AWFUL. They would run half of the girls first, then the other half second. This one girl who was always in my class….we’ll call her Robyn (haha, that was totally her real name), was a gym Nazi. As I was stumbling around the corner during one fitness run, she came barrelling up behind me and screamed “MOVE!!!!” and then elbowed me out of the way, so that she could really take the turn nice and tight around the stupid pilons. Bitch! It’s a gym test! Shit! I’d hate to imagine how she dealt with actual obstacles in her life.

In conclusion, the last gym class I ever took in grade 10 was one of the greatest moments of my life. I ran around like a maniac, waving my shoes around like a fool and slammed them into the garbage can victoriously, while my teacher watched in awe.

She told me she’d never met someone who hated gym so much. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

I don’t dance. Get over it.

I don’t dance. You will never ever see me dance. Ever. It simply will not happen unless maybe it’s to save my life or the life of someone I care about. Even then, that person better hope that when they went down to Starbucks earlier, they brought me a treat.

This fact seems to boggle and even offend many people. They are boggled because I was a ‘ballerina’ for some 13 years. Yes folks, I flounced around on my tippy toes on stage in front of bright lights wearing too much makeup and I LOVED IT. I LOVED ballet. It’s the perfect activity for type-A’s like me. You can actually be perfect in ballet. There IS a perfect pirouette, there IS a perfect port a bras, you can do a perfect grand jete, the chance to be completely right is there. That appeals to total freaks like me. Or it did, I’ve actually gotten much less anal retentive over the last few years.

People who don’t even know me will come up to me and say, ‘You were a dancer, weren’t you?’ It happens every few months, not too often, but it happens. They claim I walk like a dancer. Whatever that means. I used to live at the studio, seven days a week, turning down all sorts of other things cuz I had dance. I was good at it too. Mostly because if I’m not good at something, I quit immediately. My group won all kinds of gold hardware. I adored being on stage. Everyone, look at ME! Hahahaha, you can’t do THIS, can you? Clap for me, you uncoordinated monkeys, clap!!

Unfortunately, ballet did some major damage to my body. Pretty much every move you make from your very first plie is completely unnatural positioning for your body. You are misaligning almost everything. It’ll catch up to you folks, especially when you eventually put all of your weight onto your freaking toes. I was forced to quit due to knee problems, two ripped (read, completely destroyed and mangled) quads and the demands of university. Pffffft. Turns out university was totally NOT worth it, but whatever.

So anyhow, I loved to dance…..ballet. This doesn’t translate into loving to dance in general. I went to two school dances in my whole life, one in grade five and one in grade seven. I skipped every single high school dance. Everyone told me I’d regret it, I’d look back and realized that I passed up something I can’t go back to. They were wrong. I don’t regret it. I would have regretted it if I’d gone, and had to stay there, knowing I’d be having way more fun anywhere else.

I just don’t get it. I don’t understand it. I’m glad for people who do like to dance, to each their own and all that. I do not gain even a glimmer of pleasure from standing in front of others, flailing my body around in unchoreographed motions, trying to attract attention to myself whilst being unable to hear my own thoughts due to the music blasting into my ears. I don’t see the fun of being crammed around other flailing, probably inebriated individuals. I don’t want people to be staring at my ‘moves’. I don’t want uninvited ‘gentlemen’ trying to dance with me, cuz they figure they can get away with it on a dance floor. I don’t want to be unable to talk to my friends, and instead be reduced to bouncing around in their general vicinity.

Even at a more ‘refined’ gathering, like a wedding, I don’t dance. In my opinion, absolutely everyone looks like a fucking retard when they dance. Yeah, I said it. They all look like they’re trying so damned hard to fit in and smile and be all, ‘Look! I’m conforming to societal pleasures! I’m moving about in a fashion that indicates my great personality! I have friends! I’m trying to eminate what I’ve seen people on TV and in movies do! I shall smile while I gyrate and tell myself that this is living at it’s best!!!!’

Okay, okay. I KNOW that some people are going to be all ‘dancing is fun! yay!’ or be offended at my thoughts about people who do dance. That’s just what I think when I see people dancing. I think they all look really lame and pathetic and only superficially happy. They all look like they’re only doing it cuz everybody else is doing it, but that’s some sort of sick feedback cycle. I find people to look sad when they dance, if you really look at them. They look degraded to me. Like they’ve had to lower themselves into this pit of others, writhing about in an attempt to attract others or to be able to say, ‘Yeah, I went dancing’ at work on Monday, so their colleagues will be impressed by their social calendar.

People will try to literally DRAG me onto the dance floor. They quickly learn that this is an unintelligent idea. I will threaten their lives, yell loudly and insult their mama in ways unimaginable.

Everyone always says, ‘What? You don’t want to have FUN or something? God Talea, loosen up!’

No. I do like fun. But I have a definition of fun which probably 93% of the population doesn’t understand. I am a loner. An introvert. I like to read and knit and blog and sit and think and sleep and hang out in my house and do crosswords and blah blah blah. Most people think this isn’t fun. They think that this is pathetic and I will regret it one day, when my youth has passed me by and I haven’t one slutted myself up and waited in line at a club, to pay some big scary black guy $10 to pass through the doors and onto a half-lit dance floor filled with too much perfume, too many hair products and not enough clothing on people who really could stand to lose some ‘jiggleage’ around their middle.

Please stop telling me it will be fun. Stop telling me that you can make it fun, that you used to have a friend who hated dancing too, but now she loves it. Good, I’m glad she does, cuz I hope everyone finds something they can do that they love. 

For me, it won’t be dancing. Seriously, if I ever change my mind about marriage and get married one day, there will be no dance. I’ll think of something else everyone can do after they’ve eaten and drank on my dime. Maybe clean the place up, you money sucking leeches! Hahaha. I crack myself up.

P.S…..If I’ve pissed you off and you really love dancing, I’m sorry. I am. I’m glad you like it. But, as I’ve said a million times, it’s my blog. Please don’t bitch me out in the comments section, cuz I’ll either just delete you or I’ll respond with ‘it’s my blog. You are wrong.’

Now, go forth and comment. I love comments. I am now off to walk in a very serious, non-flailing manner with no rhythm whatsoever to the kitchen and find myself some food.

1 New Message from the Boyfriend

I’m sitting at work and hear my phone go off with a text message.

I pick it up, flip open the phone and see it’s from the boyfriend. He normally texts me a few times a day, saying boring, random things that I sometimes just ignore cuz it isn’t worth the future arthritis I shall have in my thumb joints.

Today was a different story though.

I chose to ‘Read’ the text message and this is what it said:

“I wanted to warm the peanut butter so I nuked it for 20 seconds. Set it on fire. All is well now.”

When I returned home, he showed me the charred remains of the peanut butter jar and shared with me his dilemma of deciding whether or not he could still eat the peanut butter.

Turns out, he went down the non-peanut butter road.

How does one set peanut butter on fire in the microwave? Who knows. Probably the same way my dad set a potato on fire in there once.

Men + microwaves = get the hell out of the kitchen.

What were you doing at 3:20 AM?

Last night, when I announced I was going to bed, I was shocked to hear the boyfriend reply with, “Yeah, I’m gonna be there in a minute.” The boyfriend is a night owl, he never goes to sleep before 2AM. I’m a sleep whore, trying to spend as much of life in a REM state as possible, so we almost never go to bed at the same time.

This works out really well, since I have a totally weird aversion to being the last one awake in a household. When I was still living at home, if my mom decided to go to bed and I was still awake, I would race around getting myself ready for bed so that I could be in bed before her. I can’t be the last one awake. The Boogey Man will eat me or something. I don’t know, but I just can’t handle it. I must always fall asleep while someone else is still awake.

So, my neuroses aside, the boyfriend actually was telling the truth and came to bed shortly after I did. This always makes me nervous, cuz it’s now a race to see who can  fall asleep first. And frankly, I can’t fall asleep under pressure, so he did. Plus, he isn’t aware he’s in a race so he’s pretty relaxed while I’m very worked up.

The boyfriend grew up in a very Lysol-ed down house and consequently has more allergies than most people. He takes allergy meds year-round. Except for last night.

As I was struggling to fall asleep, the boyfriend was contentedly enjoying dreamland. I was annoyed but it wasn’t his fault that he’d fallen asleep, I suppose. Then he started….making noises. I would call it snoring, but it wasn’t, really.

No, it sounded more like…..a Canadian goose being stepped on. Like, some awful drawn-out honking noise. It didn’t have the normal vibrations of a snore, it was flat in that department, but it was terrible. And it was completely irregular, which only makes it worse.

I kicked him in the back, I put my hand under his pillow and tried to shake his head, I pulled the sheets, I moved around a lot, all in an attempt to wake him up or at least make him switch positions, cuz usually if I can accomplish that, he’ll cease the awful noises coming out of his face.

This time I was unsuccessful, as I was working against his unmedicated allergies and I was clearly no match.

I dragged my ass out of bed, grabbed my pillow, took the blanket off the shelf and made myself at home on the couch. Luckily, we have the most comfortable couch in the whole world, so I didn’t really care.

I drifted into a lovely sleep, only to be woken up at 3:20 AM. It went something like this:

-Boyfriend stumbles out of bedroom, shuffling feet and waking me up. I crack open my eyes to see him in a clearly half-asleep state. He looks like hell. He whispers, “Hey!”
– I ignore him, hoping he’ll go the hell away.
– He whispers again. “Hey!”
– I reluctantly roll over and grunt an angry response to him.
– Him: “Are you awake?”
– Me: *Angry grunt, muffled by pillow* “What?”
– Him: “Why are you sleeping on the couch? I woke up and saw you weren’t there.”
– Me: “You sounded like someone was stepping on a Canadian goose. You were honking.”
– Him: “Was I?”
– Me: *Angry grunt*
– Him: “Are you sure? I don’t remember hearing it.”
– Me: “Honking goose!”
– Him: “Do you want to trade places? I can sleep on the couch and you can have the bed.”
– Me: “No! I want you to go to bed! Why are you up at 3:20?? Where did you think I had gone? Go back to sleep. Shit!”
– Him: *Shuffles back to bed, dog following him*

Usually, the boyfriend is a smart guy. He’s all sciencey and shit. But sometimes he is seriously dumb. Usually when he’s half asleep. This is a prime example of it. It also explains why I have no energy whatsoever today.

Guys, if you ever wake up and your lady friend is missing, it’s safe to assume she’s in the potty or has relocated on her own free will. It’s fairly safe to assume that she hasn’t been kidnapped. Don’t go stumbling around the house to try and find her. If she’s sleeping when you find her and you wake her up to ask retarded questions, she’ll want to kick you in the balls. Trust me.

I dont’ get it, he’s never done that, but it must have been very important in his foggy, 3:20AM brain to find out where I was. I mean, I’m kind of a big deal, so it’s a good idea to keep tabs on me. Obviously.

Tag Cloud