Tuesday, March 23, 2010
You know what? Who really cares as long as someone actually does change the freaking effing goddamn roll after they've finished with it???!!! Nothing says "I care deeply about you" by leaving one to drip dry while the replacement roll is stored in the secretive and sneaky hiding spot of under the bathroom sink... Jeez!
This post is dedicated to my favourite lover, G Spot. My prized personal pleasure center and I have reached the stage in our relationship where we are trying to determine our compatability along the dimensions of being able to stand each other long term. We seem to score high on important dimensions such as shared goals, desires and core values. We have low scores along beliefs in life after death, the use of psychics to provide guidance in our lives and that men are able to accomplish necessary tasks as well as women. They can't. They just bloody well can't.
Like most couples, we differ on a few dimensions that are domestic in nature. Actually, we seem to differ on most dimensions that are domestic in nature... Such as, you ask? Well, besides the dreaded non-replacement of the loo roll, there is also:
* Unruly manhandling of the washroom handtowels. This was the first domestic directive that I had to issue, but so far so good. Now, they lay on the towel rack disheveled, but not totally bedraggled. That's progress.
* The throwing of my beautiful tufted silk coverlet from Madly Expensive Home Decor Store on the floor with reckless abandon, but it's done in the name of mad, passionate sex, so I therefore excuse it.
* The hiding of empty containers in the fridge. Isn't it cute when men finish the milk and then put the empty carton back in the fridge and then complain when there is no milk? Isn't it cute when they do that with the orange juice, too?? And the sugar free Kool Aid that is really meant for my enjoyment???
Today's lesson? Over. Under. Upside down. Rightside up. I'm not fussy. Just bloody well change the damn thing at the right time and we can continue to live our lives as we have come to know them. That, men, is the recipe for domestic bliss on all dimensions!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
JE-SUS! I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with my mother, the lovely yet painfully direct and therefore hurtful, June Cleaver-Blogshaw. It was very, very nice of my mother to take me to the hospital to endure a painful medical procedure. It was not nice of her, however, to verbally and emotionally abuse me afterwards...
Having returned to her condo and in intense pain, I took some time to have a rest. After a few minutes, I was beckoned by everyone's favourite mercenary matriarch:
June Cleaver-Blogshaw: "Carrie, can you bring me my Coke?"
(contrary to what everyone might think, she meant her glass of Coke, and not a line of coke, but I can plainly see how her demand could be misconstrued...)
Carrie Blogshaw: "I'll be right there..." (when my head stops pounding and I can heave myself off this oasis of a couch...)
June: "But fill it up with a new Coke from the fridge first - I don't like it to be flat"
Carrie: ~ sigh ~
After delivering Her Highness's libation of choice, she announced that the date had been set for my brother, the provocative planner, Beavis Blogshaw's, wedding. The great news? They chose my birthday weekend. Fabulous. Not only will I have to participate in the wedding and be judged by friends and family alike (while wearing a ridiculous and unflattering meringe-like dress), I will have to suffer through the ordeal on my birthday weekend. Yep, of all the weekends in that whole month, they chose to plan their nuptuals on my big day. This is so 'Sixteen Candles'... To top it all off, as one of my smart single gal pals reminded me this evening, my birthday will coincide with their anniversary for the rest of my life. Great - I'll be overshadowed for eternity!
I mentioned to June that it would be the weekend of a milestone birthday for me. She said she knew, but what could she do? I asked if she had mentioned to them (my bro lacks the capacity to remember anniversaries, birthdays and other important dates - an affliction that most men suffer from) that it would be an important weekend for me and if they could choose another of the 4 weekends available to them in that month. The curt conversation went something like this:
Carrie: "Did you mention that it is my birthday weekend?"
Carrie: "Why not?"
June: "Beavis's wedding is more important than your birthday. Weddings trump birthdays."
That ended the conversation.
The moral of the story? I would like to inform you all that I am no longer scared of getting married. Instead, I am greatly anticipating it. In fact, I am planning it right now. All I know so far is that it will be HUGE, both my bro and his fiancee will be in it and it will fall on the day of either my mother or my brother's birthday!!!