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21 Nov 2009 12:09
20 November 2009
Doofus and the Crosseyed Wench
11/20/2009 10:27:00 PM 0 CommentsDear little wee people living inside my television: It must be very difficult for you living in there; you have to have specially-made tiny furniture and cars and underpants. I suppose they don't let you out of there much, what with the demands of syndication. On the other hand, your weather is usually predictable. Listen, I think it's wonderful that Doofus and The Crosseyed Wench decided to get married to each other in mini-Las Vegas, and I'm not going to lie to you; when I saw them with miniscule Star Trek communicator pins, my cockles were warmed. I am certianly not one to begrudge two weirdos in love. And honestly, I would have loved to get married on the bridge of the Enterprise. In fact, when His Nibs and Yours Truly were sending out invitations, we even sent one to Mr. William Shatner. Well. To be honest, *I* sent an invitation. For our wedding. To Mr. William Shatner. So imagine my surprise when I saw you, trapped in your miniature world, your trifling world walled on one side by glass, talking to a pocket-sized wedding planner about your wedding in Las Vegas, and you said the only guest you wanted was none other than Mr. William Shatner. MY William Shatner. My Mr. William Shatner who didn't even send back my RSVP card, even though I'd sent an SASE and enough Yankee postage to get it back here. I thought, "Oh. Oh, this is too rich. Doofus and The Crosseyed Wench will NEVER get Mr. William Shatner. First of all, he's far too busy to return people's RSVP cards in postage-paid SASEs. MUCH too busy to actually *go* to someone's wedding just because they watched him once a week on Saturday mornings for the first fifteen years of their lives." You know, I don't really have all that much to say to you, to be honest. The truth is, you are only, at maximum, twenty-some inches high. And you can't 'ekscape' your little LCD/Plasma prison. And I think that serves you right. Shatner stealers. So we're not going to keep up this charade, my meager former friends. I hope your sham of a "wedding" was everything you wanted to be. The dress made you look fat. Yours in disenShatulation, cenobyte -
20 Nov 2009 18:44
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20 Nov 2009 00:35
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19 Nov 2009 03:51
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18 Nov 2009 10:23
18 November 2009
Define "Retreat"
11/18/2009 08:10:00 AM 1 CommentsSo. Only one of these scenarios really happened in the really really world. You might not know this, but I spent the weekend at a monastery while His Nibs and the kids stayed at home. And do you know what happened there? A whole lot of sex. Serioulsy. Couldn't get away from it. A staggering amount of sex. What's the collective noun for an awful lot of copulation? There was a nuzzle of sex. (Wait; can you *have* a collective noune for a verb? It does seem rather counter-intuitive, doesn't it? Maybe it's a collective adjective then.) There was nuzzling and caressing and humping and fucking every time I turned around. I am *totally* not complaining. At a MONASTERY (and yes, the Benedictines are Roman Catholic). Now, in the dream I had last night (yes, that first part actually happened), Neuba and her J and their gorgeous baby, and Darth Xander and *his* J and *their* gorgeous baby, and a bunch of people who haven't any gorgeous babies at all were all staying in a hotel of sorts. It seemed to me that Neuba and her J were living in this apartment/condo complex, because they had a bathtub in the main room. It was a large clawfoot tub with coloured water and jets. And Yours Truly was about 5 months pregnant. (**sigh**) I mean, lots of other things happened, but that was the real salient point. Oh, and my mum showed up. She and I and my grandmother had a *really* long conversation last night (thank you, mugwort tea!), but I wasn't expecting to see mum again tonight. She was disdainful of all the crap I'd brought to the hotel/apartment (with good right). She also told me to lose some weight (she's been telling me that since I was eleven, and she's right). So a big hey to Neuba and her J and their wee wiggler, and to Darth Xander and his J and their wee wobbler. You guys seem to be doing great! Also, babies and toddlers from now on shall be called 'wigglers and wobblers', and in the store I own that has toys, handmade clothes, and other kidstuff, that's how their section shall be labelled. Make it so. -
17 Nov 2009 18:06
17 November 2009
Pretty Deep
11/17/2009 07:25:00 AM 3 CommentsSo this one time, Smarty Pants and I were walking somewhere, and we were talking about stuff...I presume...because I don't remember it. But he assures me it's true and that this really happened. Then he said some stuff about the ocean and then I said something about ...um... something else, and then he was talking about...er....whales? Maybe? And then there was some such thing about how stupid some people are, and then I said something really funny like, "Pretty Deep", but I don't remember why it's funny, and I don't remember if it's actually that or "Pretty Dumb". And you know the worst part? The worst part is that Smarty Pants has re-told me this story, this story *about my own self*, that happened when I was not pregnant, and when I *was* completely sober, and had had a lot of sleep the night before. Smarty Pants has told me this story about my own self at least two times. TWO. Times. Somewhere in my brain there had better be something really fucking important stored, because I swear to God, it's taking up space that could be put to good use. Not that it isn't put to good use now; I mean, have literally no way of knowing. -
17 Nov 2009 02:26
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16 Nov 2009 11:00
16 November 2009
Technical Difficulties
11/16/2009 08:52:00 AM 6 CommentsTwo folks have now informed me that they receive notice when I update this bournal, but that they cannot see the posts. I know that at least two folks can see the posts, and the bournal in its full glory. I have a crackpot theory. My crackpot theory is that folks in Saskatoon cannot see the bournal because there is a kind of cosmic interference between the bournal's pure awesome and The King's pure awesome. The King, you see, lives in Saskatoon. And is convinced he is made of pure awesome. Which he very well may be. However, I *do* know that the bournal is made of pure awesome, because I made it. And I made it out of pure awesome. So. If you can see the Bournal and the updates, please post an "AHOY!" in the comments. If you cannot see the Bournal and the updates, tear off all your clothing and run around in the street screaming "It's so UNFAIR!" and throw in a couple of rousing choruses of "THE BELLS!!! THE BELLS!!!" while you're at it. If you can see the bournal but choose not to read it, you're being a poop. -
13 Nov 2009 18:19
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13 Nov 2009 00:34
12 November 2009
Might as well be Monday
11/12/2009 11:20:00 AM 1 Comments"Do you smell that?" His Nibs said, just before the radio went off. "Ngggghhhhunnnggghhh?" I replied. "Do you smell something BURNING!?" He was Very Nervous. To tell you the truth, I smelled my pillow, and that was about it. The kids were moving around, getting ready for school. Then, after a few minutes of trying to figure out if I was still asleep, I realised that yes, I too smelled something kind of smokish. "I think it's the furnace!" His Nibs called from the main floor. I sighed, then bumbled my way downstairs. His Nibs (who is not necessarily mechanically inclined) is staring at the furnace. I open it up, turn off the pilot light, then turn off the power. His Nibs asked about the pilot light. It was clear to me that all things furnace were stolidly in my realm. I reset the furnace, and listened to it for a minute. "It sounds like the fan motor is blown," I said. Then I went upstairs and felt the vent. "Yes. The fan motor is blown," I said again. "You'll have to call the furnace guy." So His Nibs called a few furnace guys, and the morning was spent having the fan motor replaced (it was, indeed, blown. Hot, even). Then, His Nibs couldn't get the thermostat cover open. Then, His Nibs couldn't find batteries for the thermostat. Then, the light wouldn't work when His Nibs tried to turn it on. Then, His Nibs realised it was Recycling Day, and we hadn't put our recyclables done. Then, when getting eggs for breakfast, he ended up throwing one across the kitchen, and it smashed on the floor.
So.
Today has not been a good day, so far, for His Nibs. Be gentle with him.
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