Holy shit, my kitten is a serial killer

•December 2, 2008 • 1 Comment

This happened on Friday:


And today when we woke up, this was outside the bedroom door:

Bodies yet to be found

Bodies yet to be found

That’s exactly what it looks like – the head of one of her toy mice. I understand that it’s a bit pre-emptive to be calling the Behaviour Analysis Unit of the FBI, but somebody needs to get on this shit.


I don’t fucking think so.


O Come All Ye Faithful(ish)

•December 1, 2008 • 4 Comments

Scene: Crowded shopping mall, mid-day, less than 24 sleeps until Christmas. Relatively well-dressed, tall, young (ish) couple walk through the mall carrying a few bags, holding hands. Man is hobbling slightly, woman has official-looking badge clipped to her purse. By all appearances, respectable-looking.

Note: Couple is us.

Me: You realize that less than four months into our marriage, and we’re going to sleep at different times, your back has gone out, and you’ve lost your wedding ring. This doesn’t bode well for us, does it?

Him: Heh. No. What happens if it keeps going like this?

Me: We might have to hire you an understudy, just to fulfill your um….matrimonial duties.

Him: You mean a stunt cock?

Me: Not JUST for that. For taking out the garbage too.

Him: Hah, right. You’d take out your own garbage if I were in serious pain. It’d be for the sex.

Me: Yeah, that’s true. Hey, do I get to pick the guy?

Him: Why, did you have someone in mind?

Me: Umm….no. Of course not. The minute I laid eyes on you, I was blinded by your beauty. I’ve been unable to see other men’s attractiveness.

Him: Suuuuure…

Me: No, it’s true. I had 20/20 vision before I met you. Now I have to close one eye and squint with the other one, and only THEN can I tell whether someone’s remotely attractive.

Him: You know what? Just for that barrage of sarcasm, I’m picking the guy.

Me: Noooo! You’re going to pick someone lame, like Hayden Christiensen!

Him: I would not!

Me: Yes you would! You love Hayden Christiensen!


(At this point, he realizes that we’re in the Bay at 2pm and there are lots of older women looking at him, and he starts blushing furiously).

Me: Hee hee! Now those old ladies think you love Hayden Christiensen too!

Him: You’re not getting Chris Cornell, so just forget about it.

Me: *sulkily* You know, you smoke. You’re totally going to die before me.

Him: *sighing* I wonder what normal people talk about while Christmas shopping….

Me: *shrugs* How the hell should I know? Hey, are there any shows about serial killers on tonight?


•November 25, 2008 • 1 Comment

…that I’d stop being startled by the surround sound

…that my new “one-duvet-under-the-topsheet-one-duvet-in-the-duvet-cover” sleeping system wasn’t *quite* so appealing to everyone else, including the cats, who will not GET OFF THE BED

…that my clothes would iron their damn selves

…that Demon Spawn would stop eating whatever it is she finds in the condo that causes her to emit such stinky poos

…that “Lisey’s Song” wasn’t such a quick read

…that there would be some way to make SURE no one bought me body lotion or candles for Christmas. Apparently people think I’m poorly-lubricated (heh) and do not have electricity

…that I could somehow find a way to parlay dirty Chris Cornell fantasies into a career

…that there was some rehab for Lululemon. Surely a cocaine addiction would be cheaper

…that I had taped Hubby’s concession last night during the “24: Redemption” movie, wherein he admitted that I was right about the argument we had last week about who would win an unarmed fight between Jack Bauer and James Bond. I told him that Bond would never kill someone by biting them in the neck until they died. Today he denies everything

"You Can Haz Couch, Bitch"

“You Can Haz Couch, Bitch”

My Furological Clock is Ticking

•November 23, 2008 • 4 Comments

So I’ve been campaigning to get a puppy for the past, oh, two years, off and on. We agreed that until the wedding was finished, there was no point in discussing it. But now the wedding’s over, and I want a dog.

Today I emailed Hubby this at work, with the subject heading: “I can haz home?”

He just phoned, and we had the following conversation:

Me: Hey! Did you get my email?

Him: Yes. Do NOT bring that dog home! (Ed’s note: that phrase gets uttered a LOT lately).

Me: Whaaaa? But it’s so cute! Look at his eyes!

Him: No!

Me: *whines* Why not?

Him: Because, do you remember the last time you thought it’d be a good idea to bring a stray into the condo?

Me: Yes. It turned out great. Year and a half later, we’re happily married. Hahahaha!

Him: *sigh*. I meant the kitten. Remember? She cried all the time, and now we can’t have nice things because she breaks them all.

Me: That’s a good point. There’d be nothing left for Hans Moleman to break!

Him: WHO!?

Me: Erm. Hans Moleman. The puggle.

Him: No. NO! NO DOG! I’m serious! If I come home and there’s a dog, I’m going to be pissed! DO NOT GET A DOG.

Me: *sulkily* Fine. But if in two days, you realize that Hans would make our lives so much better, and then there are no puggles left, and you’re all, “why didn’t I listen to my wife? She’s so much smarter than me and now we have no dogs and one evil kitten and I have nothing to live for”, and then one day we’re out walking and we meet one of the dogs and the owner has named it Hans Moleman, and you gouge out your own eyes, then don’t come crying to me.

Him: I’ll live with it.

Me: Fine. Jerk.

Him: *cheerily* Love you too! Bye!


•November 23, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Now I know how to post. Let the snarking begin.


•November 23, 2008 • 1 Comment

There’s a very good chance that I’m going to change the format, colour, layout, tags, categories…well, everything, really…approximately eleventy billion times before settling on something that works.

Also? I have the tech-savvyness of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, so there might be a lot of posts that end up wonky because I can’t figure out how to change the title, was confused about why CSS won’t follow the same rules as HTML, missed the 4:30 autogyro, or because I get a message that confuses me and vigorously shaking the computer doesn’t fix it. Hubby’s theory is that this is because the MacBook is not, in fact, an Etch-a-Sketch. I think he’s full of crap. And Cheetos.