Here’s Your Sign

So it’s just about ten at night on a Tuesday. Josh is sleeping after a hard days work in the sun, and I’m feeling rather quiet. I was feeling melancholy, but I’m getting better at not letting my brain go down the wrong roads. Last night wasn’t so great, and I ended up losing my temper and breaking a glass. Actually, I did manage to control my “I really want to flip over a table” frustrated freakout long enough to pick a plastic cup instead of something that would shatter into a million inconvenient pieces, but it turns out I managed to crack it in half anyways. I know, I know, I’m working on it. Tonight I’m just quiet, and a little more patient.

What’s pissing me off so much? MSN. That’s it. Or maybe it’s not even messenger, maybe it’s my internet connection. Maybe it’s my provider, or maybe this fancy ass new computer still isn’t up to snuff enough to get a decent video going. I realize that I might sound like a modern spoiled “but I can’t live without my blackberry!” snot. I don’t own a blackberry. The point is this: I didn’t even have internet at home prior to about six months ago. I had internet sitting in front of me all day at work, what do you mean pay for it? The only reason I plugged in my domicile was because I missed Josh in the evenings, and staying so late at work was getting ridiculous. So it’s getting really frustrating that the one damn thing I need a computer and internet connection for simply refuses to work properly. Holy fuck cosmos, you’ve already planted the love of my life 800 miles away, and now I’m not even allowed to see him? GRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

Yes, I realize my predecessors waited weeks and months for overseas letters, but I’m going to be in that boat soon enough when Josh goes to jail (except it’s a lake, and I presume even outbound prison mail doesn’t take months to be delivered). And my predecessors didn’t fork over money for a device advertising its ability to enhance communication. It’s one thing if I can’t see my boyfriend because he’s behind bars. It’s one thing if we can’t chat because he’s just so tired and I’d rather him have a nap and feel better. It’s another thing all together when our webcams don’t work or we randomly go offline. Yes, I know he’s still on the other side of that screen, and even if it was working he’s sleeping. That’s not the point.

Maybe it’s my hyper driven corporate side, but if I’m paying for a computer, an internet connection, or a waffle iron for all I care, it should just fucking work. I gave you money and time, why do I have to deal with your incompetence?

Why can’t shit just fucking work? Ever?!? 

My dad’s reminder that the computer is in fact NOT a physical entity out to get me was surprisingly helpful. Because I honestly forget that sometimes; that plastic cup had to nerve to be in the way of my frustrated flinging hands. And Josh is the best thing in the world for my crazies. He’s like concentrated awesome and happy in a goatee, and he’s patient with me even when I’m a snarky bitch for no reason other than I’m mad at not being able to see him (which I *realize* makes no sense, welcome to being a chick). So overall I’m feeling better.

The internet is being shitty again tonight. But I’m nowhere near as pissed because I know eventually we’ll figure out a way to get it working, and eventually we won’t need it anyways. And Josh isn’t on the other side of the computer with his fingers crossed hoping for all the ones and zeroes to line up, he’s sleeping like he should be.

That and a few other things. Every now and then, no matter how frustrated or pissy I get, something lines up just right and I’m reminded that I’m still on the right path and all I need to do is be patient. Like the other night.  I was going to tell Josh about this, but I keep forgetting because we always get caught up talking about something else awesome and important. So instead I’ll let him stumble upon this story on his own and brighten his day a bit. He was listening to Brooks and Dunn last Friday night, a song all about hard working blue collar men like himself. We were in a great mood, even though he was packing up to go camping for the weekend and we wouldn’t be able to talk for a day or so. That’s a long time for us. We usually leave our webcams on overnight so we can chat first thing in the morning before he leaves for work at quarter to six, so having a blank computer screen as the late shows came on was a little disheartening. I turned on The Hour, my hip and urban “Jon-Stewart-Meets-60-Minutes” type interview show, and favourite bedtime background noise. That night’s guests? Brooks and Dunn.

In appropriate redneck fashion, I will quote Jeff Foxworthy: Heeeeeeeere’s your sign.

Emerald’s Secret Wish

Seriously, I really wish I could do this. It’s sort of retarded. But I love it. I even want the skimpy yellow outfit. Don’t tell my mother (she’d have more of a problem with yellow than skimpy, but whatever).


Josh will not be samba-ing to the best of my knowledge. I’ll have to find a fruity partner who considers me no sexier than a really nice watch or other matchy-matchy accessory. I’ll also have to get over my social anxiety, stage fright, inability to do much physical activity being so out of shape, and hate-on for spending unnecessary money on frivolous things like dancing lessons. It might be a while…

Interview with a Boyfriend

Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen!

I don’t particularly care what time of day it is where you are right now, and it’s actually just past noon here. But I enjoy saying “Good Evening”, particularly in a foreboding voice. Either way, welcome. I know I’ve made mention of the fact that this is in fact a dual post and that you’d be hearing from Josh. Tonight he came up with a fantastic idea for us to spend time together across the miles. We both fired up some pizza related foodstuffs, briefly watch So You Think You Can Dance (seriously, I don’t know who that screechy judge lady is, but I want her shot), and then interviewed each other with a game of twenty questions. Since a lot of you may not know very much about us, we figured it would be a good way to introduce ourselves. For those of you who already know us, enjoy another glimpse into our comedic genius.

Le Interview:

*Ahem*…*points microphone*

Testing one two, is it working?

For starters, and for the viewers, Mr. Josh, how did you meet your sexy ass girlfriend?

Ah, good question. I was surfing the internet, trying to find more blogs that I enjoy. I really just one that I read, and since I had just started blogging myself I was cruising around looking for cool people to pretty much rip off and ween viewers from through comments. And through a long series of blog links I somehow found Emeralds bestest friends website and was struck with her beauty and charm, but since she was taken I kept moving along and happened across a rather angry but amazing woman, and we just clicked from the first comment I left. Long story short, we fell in love through our blogs, cause we’re dorks.

Yeah, sorry Talea and I aren’t lesbians, I know you keep hoping. I’m sure she’ll love you appreciation of her beauty and charm. But carrying on my good sir! Favourite comedian and why?

Wow, that’s tough. I really love Mitch Hedburg. He was one of the funniest men who have ever lived, and came at the comedy scene with a fresh new take on dry one liner jokes. He’s a real classic, and I still quote him occasionally, but I would have to say my all time favorite is Dane Cook. I know, I know, Dane Cook is every twenty something’s favorite comedian, but that’s cause he really is the best in the business right now. Vicious Circle was the funniest DVD ever made ever, and I’ve watched it a million times and anyone who thinks otherwise is sadly mistaken and has no taste.

Dude, I so agree, its a fucking toss up between those two. I hope you don’t ask me that cause I’ve got a million more. If you were a Jim Henson muppet, who would you be?

Dang, that’s hard. Animal rocks obviously. Kermit was a total fag, and Gonzo was just weird. I liked that band leader with the gold tooth. He was pretty cool. But in the end I think I would either be Rizzo the Rat, or his french prawn buddy. Or both the old hecklers at once, that would be cool too. I hope you don’t mind indicisive interviewees.

Let me clarify: Consider all tv shows, ’cause there’s sesame street. I personally am the Cookie Monster. A blog quiz told me so.

Yeah? Ok, well I’m not cookie monster for sure. And I’m not Elmo, although you may feel free to tickle me if you want. I understand Jim Henson did a lot of shit, and I wasn’t thinking of his entire works. How about Yoda, could I be yoda?

Yoda, you can be.

Move on to the next subject you must

Sadly, it took me a second to get the backwards grammar right. Or wrong. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have smoke weed before writing these questions. And I am, I am! What is your worst habit?

Uh, getting DUI’s. Definitely getting DUI’s.

Well you stop getting those, and I’ll stop leaving my toenail clippings in the ash tray. Ummmmmm, Playboy or Hustler? Or, if it makes a difference, Hugh Hefner or Larry Flint?

Dude, Hustler for sure. Playboy is lame as hell and hardly ever shows any poon tang. What the hell is the point of buying nudie mags if you don’t get to glory in snatch you will never have a chance with? A couple of pinups in the center? Fuck you Hugh Hefner, you’re lame as hell. But to be honest, I prefer the internet over either, cause if my mood shifts suddenly mid jerk off, I can switch from midgets to BBW’s or whatever.

You and the midgets. Okay, Will Ferrell, yay or nay?

Yay, usually. He has that Quentin Tarantino tendency to be a bit over self indulgent with his acting roles, and probably should spend less attention to spitting out movies as fast as he can, and more time working out the crappy screen plays and such. For instance, Anchorman? It sucked for the most part, but Taladega Nights? AWESOME! Shake and bake! That just happened.

Really? Snap, I gave up after Anchorman, I gotta catch up then (side note: make Will Ferrell date.) What is your favourite thing to cook? Wait, what? Shake and bake?

It’s a quote from Taladega Nights, and yes you should watch that for sure. I really like cooking in general. I love making almost anything. But my favorite thing to make is sandwiches. I think sandwiches are the best form of food on the planet. And so versatile, OMG! I fuckin love ’em. I like when the fridge is getting towards empty and I have just two slices of bread, and have to take the remnanats of twenty different ingredients or leftovers and combine them into one sandwich. It’s really challenging and fun, and when it works out, which is a good bit of the time, I have a strong sense of accomplishment.

You do realize you should have actually said ‘shake and bake’ at first right?

Uh no, I am not a big shake and bake fan. I’d rather fry stuff up for reals.

Okay, that doesn’t count as a question, next! If you could have eihter a monster truck or an airplane, which would you choose, providing that the plane is irreversibly pink and fuzzy?

So you mean I could either have a pink fuzzy airplane, or a monster truck of my design?

Well maybe not a super custom built one, I mean just a standard monster truck, like someone took you to a monster truck rally and just gave you a random key. The plane however, only comes in pink.

What kind of plane is it? I mean is it like a biplane, or a passenger plane, or a bomber, or a jet fighter, or a sea plane, or a leer jet?


Screw the 747, I would take the monster truck. I would have so much more fun with it. Plus I hate airports. And I couldn’t visit Emerald (you) in the plane just yet, so I would rather be driving around Wake and Johnston counties looking all badass and redneck, crushing stuff and never using roads.

I didn’t really think about that question much, did I? Oh well. Okay, this I’ve actually been wondering for a long time, and I guess I’ve been too lazy to google. What the fuck is eskimo pie?

An eskimo pie is like a moon pie I think, unless I’m way off. Or maybe like chocolate cookies with creme in the middle like a sandwich. Dammit, now I don’t know. Let me google it right quick. Yeah, nevermind, it’s like an ice cream sandwich on a stick I guess. I don’t know man, I don’t ever eat stuff like that. I’m a salt man, not a sugar man.

Put those boobies up or I’ll never be able to finish this interview

Shhhhh! They can’t see.

Oh right, my bad, that’s an MB.

Okay, if you had to give up eating one animal, would you pick chicken, pig or cow?

Could I pick like, rat?

Don’t worry I’m not trying anything funny, I respect your meat worshipping. And no. Notice I didn’t even include fish?

Dang, well pig is out cause my favorite food is made of pork, and beef is out, cause what straight man would give up steak forever. I would give up chicken. Everything else tastes like it anyway.

I so called that. What do you like most about yourself?

Muhdik! Nah just playing, although that’s what I “love” most frequently about myself. I would say my sense of humor, or the way my brain pulls together information in a different pattern than most peoples brain does. But the latter doesn’t get me as much strange as the former, so uh … my sense of humor, final answer

….That’s a Who want’s to be a millionaire referrence, not me ending the interview.

Yeah, I got that, don’t worry

You had a really long pause there.

I stopped thinking there for a second cause I was thinking about all the things I like about you and I think my brain does the same, thats why we click so well.

I had you at muhdik.

That too. Since we both had pizza for dinner, what’s one topping that you’ve never seen on pizza (I mean pizza you can buy easily, not shit you poured on there yourself on a drunken trip to the pantry or something) but that really really should be there right next to mushrooms and all that?

There used to be a place in town that served ostrich and aligator pizza, those would be pretty rad. I think maybe, chorizo, or lengua. Both mexican dishes, one a sausage, the second being beef tongue, and I never see either on pizza. Uh, cheese curds, cause we don’t have those here.


Hell yeah, now you’re thinking woman! Gravy and cheese on pizza? Yes please!

I’m thinking just gravy and cheese and potatoes, but do you still think there should be tomato sauce? Oh right, interview! Okay, okay, I’m almost done.

Nah, not for poutine pizza. Maybe you could make a really thick gravy that would hold together well, and make the entire crust deep fried potato of some kind.

I thought that was part of the interview

No, potato wedges on pizza is good! And yeah, totally make it part, that was just an interlude, I just don’t want to get too far off track. Okay, where do you see America in three years? How about twenty?


Take your time.

Right above Mexico, and stretching north to the Eskimo badlands in what is now the northern most sections of Canada. HA!

So realistically, I see America continuing to go into recession. These things tend to work like very long waves. I think the backlash against bush should drastically change our foriegn policy with the next president, so hopefully the rest of the world will slowly stop hating us again. I think the American people are going to get more and more frustrated with our two party system, and eventually lash out against our government who is quite obviously failing us on nearly every level. I see something like the protests of the sixties mixed with the race riots in California. There will probably be some severe civil unrest, and a good stretch of time where the government tries to tighten it’s grip and regain it’s control without giving in to change. But in the end I see America keeping it’s place as the premier superpower in the world. We still have a lot to offer as a nation, and if we can get some things straightened out in our country, our people will be able to rise up again and pursue the American dream of freedom and success, rebuilding our economy and keeping us at the front of science and technology.

Well I hope one of us is across the border before the ‘tighten it’s grip’ shit kicks in. But time for a lighter question: Seriously, how the fuck do you not like Doritos? Honestly?

I don’t like Doritos cause they taste like ass. I’m not a big fan of fried corn goods, never have been. The only exception would be Tostitos, cause they don’t over power salsa, and they accompany the flavor of salsa and guacamole well. I don’t like corn tortillas either, I prefer the flour ones. Why do you like them so much? They dry your mouth out and they all taste the same. Shite! Hushpuppies are good too.

I only like Doritos after a bowl cause I like to think about the science of artificial flavour in those little specks all over the chips. That and I like crunching things into a paste, like saltine crackers because I’m frigging weird. so what’s your opinion on nudists?

Ok well I’m not a pothead and I like my crackers to be flour based, like the cracker ass honky I am. Nudism is one of those do what you want things. I don’t mind. Hell, I don’t really even mind people being around me naked when I have some heads up, no pun intended. But even though I have a bit of an exhibitionist streak, I would feel weird just walking around naked with strangers and living like that. And I would probably object to my beautiful girlfriend participating in nudist activities cause it would make me jealous. I mean, you are breath taking, and every guy would want you, and it would bother me. So the compound jealousy, and I guess … insecurity? I don’t know I just wouldn’t want to do it.

Who is your idol and if you could rummage through one drawer/cupboard in their house, which one would it be?

My idol? I think my idol doesn’t exist in real life. It’s more an amalgam of different public figures who I have seen and thought were cool, but later found out were not really that cool at all. I guess you could take just about every rock star, combine them with the manliness of every action movie star, and make one all powerful idea of what I think is sexy, charming, manly, cool, and badass. Unfortunately I have learned that most of the people who seemed cool growing up, or in the public eye are really total losers, but I still have that idea of the ass kicking, cowboy, rockstar, rebel in my head. Maybe satan. And if I could rummage through one drawer or cupboard which one would it be? The fuckin liquor closet baby! Woo hoo!

Medicine cabinet for me. Different vice?

Heh, that too, I hope they keep them in one place

Oh, and fyi, I won’t do any nudist things, even though I could technically go topless in T.O.

That would make me feel better.

Okay, did anyone ever actually use the term Freedom Fries?

Yeah, uh, nobody ever really called them that. That was more of a propaganda thing the government and the media hyped like shit. Everyone I knew thought it was retarded, but kind of went along with it cause it was fun to mock the fear-mongers and the French at the same time. But in real life, outside of parody, nobody called them freedom fries.

Okay good, cause holy shit we laughed at you for that. Worst invention ever?

The worst invention ever? I don’t know, probably the clapper. I hate the clapper. And that stupid song that went with it. “Clap on, clap off, clap on clap off clap on … the clapper!” I hate that damn song. BET was a dumb idea, but that’s not really an invention. It has to be the clapper, that was pretty dumb.

Really? Awwwwwww

Do you want a clapper?

It facilitates laziness! We can romp around in the hay with the lights on to enjoy the scenery and stuff and then be able to turn off the lights without getting out of bed!

They have remote control lights for that.

Oh wait, I guess they have remotes for that now, which is better cause it’s not noisy and you don’t have to…yeah

And remote control ceiling fans

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an example of what Josh and I call brainsex and we do it all the time. It even has its own emoticon i found, a little brain made out of wriggling naked bodies.

brain sex!

brain sex!

Second last question: Family Guy or Simpsons?

Wait you gotta explain, brain sex is when two people think the same thing at the same time.

Oh yeah, well that’s what we just did right there. I guess I figured it was self explanitory.

I have to say Family Guy is funnier and edgier, but I’ve seen so many of them so many times that now for rerun enjoyment I prefer the Simpsons, cause the jokes are fresh again. So Futurama.

I say Simpsons just cause there’s more of them and less likely to see one you saw just last week. And lastly: what’s your favourite kind of pie?

Pink. Hahahahahaha!

I’m Canadian, does that count as eskimo pie?

Heh, it might, I would have to say if that counts it’s my favorite kind of pie. But really, besides pecan pie which is fuckin awesome, my most favorite kind of pie is actually cake. Cheese cake. I think that is really pie with the bastard name cake at the end.

That must be true cause I like pie and not really cake. If we both like cheesecake, can we sit around watching sappy movies eating cheesecake? And by sappy movies I mean Con Air where I cry at the end, cause I don’t really do actual flick movies.

Flick = chick. I tried to say chick flick and failed.

Oh, I thought you meant porn, yeah sure, Con Air is awesome. I get it, sappy movies, like semen would be people sap …. eh? … nevermind.

Porn and cheesecake is for another interview but this one has been fantastic. Thank you Mr. Josh.

Thank you ma’am.

*fin* (that’s French or something for ‘the end’)

Interview With A Girlfriend

Josh here everyone. I finally came up with a decent idea to contribute to this blog. Apparently I don’t have many post concepts that fit well into a relationship blog. But Em and I decided to have a little fun and interview each other. In this, the first installment of two, I interview her, trying my best to emulate Stephen Colbert, and failing miserably. Hopefully with these two interviews you can get a better sense of who exactly we are, since neither one of us really feels comfortable filling out those damned “about you” pages. It’s like filming a dating audition for the whole friggin internet, and this is much more like joking around and conversating with each other, which is how we fell in love in the first place. So without further adieu I present to you, in Dolby surround sound 5.0, yours truly throwing Emerald under the bright lights of a media frenzy.

Thanks for meeting me today Em, May I call you Em? Yes, yes you may.

Of course I can, so Em, besides being named Emerald have you ever had any nicknames? I believe there have been jokes made about me winning an Emmy at some point, but mostly just Em.

How about your vagina, what alias’ has it gone by in the past? I think it has only ever once been given a title or anything other than ‘your vajayjay’ and stuff, but I don’t think you’d like it.

Nothing like Lucy I hope. How about Harriet? I always thought that was a good vagina name. Well it didn’t have a name, but Anthony used to write his name across my tummy in sharpie and point an arrow to it to indicate it was his. But it was never really his, and its only yours now. So I guess in a weird way it’s named “Josh’s”, unless you want to name it Harriet.

No, we’ll come up with a good nickname for that later. Speaking of vaginas, the word on the street is that you are a closet lesbian. If you had the chance, which may I say, with a body like yours you just might, what female celebrity would you most like to scissor the bearded clam with? I was going to say Donna D’Erico, who was Nikki Sixx’s hot wife. Cause I always thought they were both hot, but that’s slightly intimidating with two hot people. and now that they’re divorced I was going to say something about not having to worry about Nikki favoring her more, but then remembered she dumped him, so I don’t like her anymore. I’d go with Angelina Jolie cause she’s a freak, I like skinny chicks, she’s got a great face, and I’m on a totally pregnancy kick lately. Plus the awesome kid names.

Well make sure to film it if you do, or even let me watch if she doesn’t mind. Especially if she’s preggers. How would you describe your religious views? I would say there is definitely something going on up there but I don’t know who or what it is or even if it’s conscious. But I refuse to believe I’m just a petri dish. In the end I’m rather budhist on the whole topic, which is essentially to live the best you can and worry about the god part when you get there. Oh, and one more thing, I don’t come knocking on your door with a copy of ‘The Dirt’, so get the hell off my lawn!

If you had to choose one religion to commit genocide on, which one would taste your bloody wrath? Fundamentalism of any sort, of which any set of ideals supporting genocide would be one. But then I like paradoxes.

I don’t even like one dox at a time, but I digress. My sources say you are a vegetarian. Now most people think of angry, hypocritical, douchebags when they hear the V word, but I’ve smelled you, and you smell nothing like a douchebag. Can you explain the apparent contradiction here? What reasons if any do you have for not being a total asshole every time someone brings meat or animal products around you? You don’t come knocking on my door with a dead cow, so I’ll stay the hell off your lawn.

Very blasé faire. So since you’ve decided to abstain from the best food on earth, what is your favorite out of the selection you’re left with? Low carb air wraps? Finely shredded cabbage wafers topped with tree bark? Algae? What drives your mouth wild? Licks veggie burgers with sauteed mushrooms and onions on flax toast with dijon mustard and carolina bbq sauce, with a side of one of two salads: spinach with strawberries, sunflower seeds and bocconcini cheese with a raspberry vinaigrette, or arugula topped with toasted almond/sauteed onion herbed goat cheese and toasted almonds with an olive oil lemon vinaigrette. Oh, and Thai food. I only ever order golden curry tofu.

Ooooh, nice choice! I’m almost tempted to try that minus the veggie burger part, I’m impressed. Well, with all that healthy eating, some of your fans think you have a great chest, and they are correct. Some of them think you have a great ass, and they are also correct. What part of your body do you think is the best? My boobies are awesome, though I wish they’d stay up on their own more. My ass is fantastic, but I’m not a fan of my jiggly arms.

I like all three, and as jiggly as possible! You are part French Canadian, does this give you a natural shaving handicap, or do you just feel arrogant and wear dumb hats most of the time? Oh snap, how much do I want one of those ridiculously large and floppy sunhats? I want to be an obnoxious hat wearer when I’m 70. I’d do it now if I had money to spend on hat boxes. And I must say I put off shaving as much as possible because I actually have a vivid, horrific fear of slicing my ankle open.

Any other vivid hygiene fears I should know about before I take our relationship any farther? Acidic Summers Eve parhaps? Hmmmm? Other than my total failure at properly applying Nair, no. But what is acidic summers eve?

That would be twat freshner that could magically become acid and burn off your pelvis. I was just making up ridiculous shit to joke with you. Oh douches are a horrible idea, soap and water ladies.

At the moment you are succeeding as an apt customer service representative for a large corporation. That seems like hell to me personally, but you seem to thrive in a corporate setting. What would be you dream job, and why do you think it would be the best job on the planet? My dream job would to be a personal assistant to a small group of executives, say five members of a board of some type. I want to be rearranging flights, remembering everyone’s coffee order, and driving around in a company car. Because I’m good at it and that’s how I impress the hell out of myself.

Wow, so basically a power secretary? Yes. I think the corporateness can be very sexy, so naturally I have to be the absolute best. Besides, that person has the real power. If I were to quit with no notice, I’d take down the damn board. Talea and I as a unit did that at our last job.

You come off as a closet freak, what is the most embarrassing sexual situation you have ever been in? Um …. hang on let me think! Well I don’t know how much of a sexual situation this is, but I was horrifically bum sick on the second night I was staying at this guys house when we first started dating, and the bathroom was right next to the bedroom. There was no sexy times, he just got to listen to me all night. Other than that, just the usual occasional queef and a surprise period or two.

Ha, that’s awesome! Serves him right, he should have known he wasn’t right for you. You have recently revealed that you met a man. Your fans are eating this up, quite possibly because of his uber-hunk status. Would you say he’s an incredibly attractive man, or the most attractive man ever? I would say he is the sexiest man ever, and will probably look like a handsome, rugged Tommy Lee Jones when he gets older.

He already looks at least that good according to public opinion. They say money can’t buy happiness. With America in an economic recession would you say this has been proven to be bull shit, or do you not care since you live in that other state? Well we do worry about your economy because you are our primary trade partner, but we’re doing alright. Toronto as a city tends to weather economic difficulties well, which is a trend normally only seen in political centres like Ottawa. (cause their economies are steadied by political tourism, etc) So I personally don’t feel the crunch, but our housing market is through the roof. I’m sure farmers could tell you differently, etc. but I personally feel sheltered from its immediate impact. I do think you’re fucked for the next little bit though.

Maple syrup, what’s the big deal? Also, milk in a bag, WTF? I KNEW you were going to ask about the milk. Dude, maple syrup is the shit, there’s no way around that. And look, bags just take up less fucking room. It’s actually a problem up here, finding a place to put all our shit in the recycling process, and having to ship our garbage to Michigan.

Oh wow, so there’s an actual reason for it, I thought you guys had just been frozen in th snow for too long and started going mad. You’d have to stick like, 300 empty milk bags to take up the same space one jug of milk takes up. No wonder you spit out like five times more volume in garbage than we do. (statistics totally real and true but not verified)

Your currency is called a loonie. Do you feel retarded when you go to the store, or have you found a way to cope with the name? Loonie is natural to me, I mean there’s a loon on it, loonie, it’s kind of cute. Like how you sometimes refer to your money with the name of the president. The toonie is retarded, but pretty, so I like it. Also it makes saving up easier, cause it’s nothing to toss a loonie or toonie in a change jar, and then holy shit you’ve got fifty bucks!

Now a two loonie bill is called a toonie, are you aware that the USA got rid of their two dollar bill because it was “queer”? Good thing we don’t have a two dollar bill then.

The toonie ma’am, the toonie is what I speak of. Well you didn’t get rid of no two dollar coin cause it was queer now did you?

Does the phrase “queer as a toonie” sound like something you want people saying when you purchase things? See you’re doing that thing with words that my brain doesn’t recognize, cause I’d say queer as a loonie cause loonie also means nuts. And queer is also used to mean strange or weird, even though I know that’s obviously not what you mean.

Perhaps the saying is lost in translation. So you are telling me that Canada uses coins for one and two dollar currency? Are you aware that America has perfected the currency system, much like everything else we do, and if so why has Canada not yet conformed to our obvious global superiority? Yeah we’ve got coins, cause they last longer than bills. Also, your currency sucks ass. I like my colour coding system, especially when I’m drunk or its dark.

Well have fun with your hypothermia little miss sass. Canada is famous for never doing anything with their alleged army. Why do you still have one, in five words or less? Cause we use it, retard.

Eskimos, friend or foe? Friend. They make pretty jewellery and have an interesting culture and respect the land.

Enough about your country would you rather pee on someone, or crap on someone? And who would you do it to? Oh, I’d far rather pee on someone, cause I think crapping is far more personal and revealing. I mean “she likes to think her shit don’t stink” is a phrase for a reason. But who would I pee on? I don’t know. Probably whatever smarmy mouth, punk ass kid just pissed me off on whatever occasion I happen to finally snap and do it.

What is your favorite animal? Bunnies!

Mine is the venom spitting dragon ape, which of ours do you think would win in a fight? You asshole! You knew I’d walk into that one! My secret fifth rabbit Trogdor would win!

Win a quick death perhaps. OK, if you were supreme commander of the world, what would be your first order of business, and would it involve legalizing marijuana and forcing everyone to consume some every day? My first command would be EVERYONE BACK IN YOUR OWN FUCKING COUNTRY!!!! By that I don’t mean ‘get out immigrants’, cause we do need them up here. I mean people arguing over borders and retarded shit should just stop for a motherfucking second, sit on your currently designated sides for a bit. And CHILL OUT. And fuck it, you know what? lets apply that to the whole world. For two weeks NOBODY travels, and then see how much you take for granted your current ability to hop all over the world. Smoke weed for a week and lets start this shit over.

Sounds like you would be a much better supreme commander than I would. Let’s talk politics. You claim to vote far left wing, yet you also claim to not agree with the far left wing, what is your reason for contradicting yourself? I have a set of principles that I stick to. Generally speaking they can be associated with a left wing political stance, but I will not deny when a right wing government puts a policy or practice into place that I agree with. I don’t care what left or right label you want to put on it, my principles are what I go by.

What’s your scariest nightmare ever, besides a government run my way? I had a nightmare when I was a young kid about wandering lost through a witches shop with dusty raw wooden floors and shelving, steaming cauldrons and jars. It doesn’t sound scary but I was lost and terrified.

I once dreamed I was having sex with a woman and she spontaneously gave birth on me, have you ever dreamed about having a baby born on top of you during intercourse? Uhhhhhhh nope. I do think about the whole birth thing though, mostly cause it terrifies me.

You might tonight. How about your personality? You say you are crazy, but not typical girl crazy. Can you elaborate on this for us? Well I’m crazy in the clinical sense in that I get weird panic attacks and have mild delusions like “I cant shave my legs or my plans for the evening will fall through” like actual crazy. But I don’t do things like say “nothing!” when you ask what I’m pissed about, and I’m actually pretty good at explaining why I feel something completely irrational. I don’t know many women who can say, “oh ignore me, I’m just mad for no reason.”

And one last question for you tonight, if you could have one superpower, what would it be? Invisibility! Because I want to know everything and be everywhere.

Mine would be the ability to completely control every aspect of other people’s bodily functions, that way I could make a ton of money as a masseuse who gives women orgasms, but not get arrested for prostitution. Plus if people pissed me off I could make them crap their pants. I wouldn’t mind you having that power. Well, more for the first reason. Not so much the second.

Alright Emerald, thank you for sharing with us today, you’ve been amazing. I wish you all the best in your secret lesbian love life, and I hope we get the chance to talk again in the future.

How I Broke My Toe

In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing that this all happened on the way back from my trip to North Carolina, because if it had happened on the way there, I probably would have kicked that toddler who kept offering me her fried chicken right in the face. It was that bad.

It took forever to get my ass down there, mostly because Josh still has court dates floating around, and of course every time one of them comes up, we have to prepare for the very real possibility of him being taken away for some time. Every time so far, of course, it’s been continued. It’s a pretty shitty feeling to half-want your boyfriend to hurry up and go to jail already, not knowing for how long, but there’s not much that can be done about that. Eventually, however, a date was pushed back by a few weeks, and there was a three week window before his next date. That was enough time to do some frantic research and organize a way to cross the border without a passport – by land or sea was the only way, and so I hopped my ass on the Greyhound.

The trip there was fairly smooth sailing, except for that chicken loving tot and an hour long delay just outside of Buffalo when someone suddenly realized that the driver was not senior enough to be trusted on his own and needed a supervisor along for the ride (nobody had told this supervisor, and so we had to wait for him to be called at home shortly after midnight). And the trip itself was fantastic.

The trip back? Not so much.

Firstly was knowing that by the time I got back, Josh would be waking up to another court date. Secondly is this funny thing my body likes to do when I’m anxious or stressed out, which is called throwing a panic attack/shitfit. I left on a Sunday night at 10pm, and I was fine until about 4pm in the afternoon, at which point I realized that I couldn’t breathe. Oh, joyous occasion. So much for one last roll in the hay, I’m too busy trying to get over this feeling of being stuffed with acid-soaked expanding cotton. Well whatever, stock up on Ativan or something for the next trip, it’s not like I can smoke weed on the Greyhound.

On the other hand, whoever is in charge of Greyhound can apparently smoke bucketloads of whatever the hell they were on. Really, it’s all sort of funny now, but at the time…well here, peep this:

So from North Carolina to Richmond, I pretty much felt like I was going to die. Which isn’t very helpful when there isn’t a hospital in sight, and even if there was, insurance doesn’t cover crazy problems. So all I focus on is “When I get to Richmond, I go to door number 10, because I’m going to Washington next. Door number 10, door number 10.” Good mantra. Sort of. Except I’m going to Washington and then New York, which somehow means I need to be at door 12. Which has a looooooooong, foreboding line.

I don’t make the bus. It’s full. So now it’s some ungodly hour, I’m stuck in a bus station in Virginia surrounded by a disproportionate number of chicks of the “I just got mah hair did” variety trying to shove their tater tot kids ahead of people in the still growing line, and am accosted by televisions in every direction going ON and ON and ON and ON about some retarded Hulk Hogan death threat scandal that I seriously couldn’t give a shit about from a legitimate news source, nevermind an incredibly biased scandal show trying to make its way from Entertainment Tonight status to CNN fearmongering.

I. Am. Pissed. I’m even more pissed that it takes until quarter to six in the morning for another fucking bus to show up. And any concerns with luggage, by the way, are greeted in the quintessential Greyhound Bus Team manner with “Dat ain’t mah prawllum, ma’am” which I’m assuming means “This concern of yours does not pertain to my job description, please go to the help desk where nobody is waiting to assist you.” The concern? Bus drivers tossing my shit to the ground and springing open the snaps keeping my hardshell suitcase shut so that it now pops open every time I roll it over any kind of bump, say the edge of an escalator. Fabulous.

I don’t even remember Washington, but I’m pretty sure it sucked there too. New York is ridiculous. You’d think being such a central hub they’d have a more high tech system of letting me know where to go, but apparently not. And the lineup I think I’m supposed to be in doesn’t have the correct information above the door, and is surrounded by confused floaters trying to get everywhere from Buffalo to Geneva. Isn’t that in Switzerland? Eventually some kid with a disgustingly mangled and puffed up ear lobe covered ineffectively with a single bandaid shows up to drive our bus all the way to Syracuse.

The bus breaks down.

I’m not even joking, the bus fucking breaks down. It’s a damn good thing there are two training busses out teaching routes to new drivers to come to our rescue two hours later, or who knows how long we would have been stuck at that scorching truck station. By the way Mr. Obviously New Driver, it’s not a good idea to abandon the bus for a while to make some calls and leave the door open to some toothless jackass who feels like climbing aboard and describing in great detail the horrible Greyhound accident he saw last week where several people died. Particularly when he replies to my question “Who are you and why are you on my bus?” with “Ahm a truck drahver” as if this merits him access to my immediate vicinity. GET OFF MY FUCKING BUS!

Eventually we continue on our merry way to Syracuse, except we have to roll through some tiny little smudge of a town first so one fat asshole can get off. Thanks for putting that on the schedule, nice to know where I’m going. The driver gets lost because dispatch gave him the wrong directions, so the fatass wanting to get off has to sit up front with the driver and tell him where to go. Super fab guys, good job! Thanks for fucking up absolutely everything so far.

We make it to Syracuse and I am through being polite. I shove my way to the Customer Service desk and interrupt about three people trying to talk to yet another fattie with ornately did hair to inquire as to the next departure time for getting my ass to Buffalo which, according to my not very helpful tickets is where my next transfer is. It’s 6pm Monday night by now, I’ve spent the entire hellish day on a motherfucking bus, and I’m already supposed to be in Buffalo. 8, she says, before commenting on my rudeness to the others (I care not after such a day of jackassery) you gotta wait another hour and a half.


And then…finally…FINALLY something goes my way. The first sane person I’d come across since leaving my boyfriend at the bus platform comes over to the desk and speaks into the microphone: “Last call for Buffalo to Toronto, gate %(#$Gm3fh$mumblemumblemumble.”

That’s me! That’s me that’s me that’s me! I run over to the desk and amidst a flurry of “Oh thank you!”s asked her what bus she had said and told her the basic gyst of what had happened. I could have cried, this wonderful woman was the best thing I had seen all day despite her lesbian haircut, and for once I was speaking to someone who knew what the hell they were doing and wasn’t just working her lame ass job to feed her fifteen “keeeids” wonderbread and hotsauce. She was an angel with her “Oh, let’s hurry, we’ve got to get you on that bus! It’s running late, lucky for you or you would have never made it! Grab your luggage, follow me!”

Well at least I’m headed somewhere now, and from there to the border it’s not too bad. Except for the asshole bus driver who tossed my shit hard enough to spring my suitcase right open on the pavement in front of customs, lipsticks and shoes rolling everywhere, and the nice gash I received on my hand trying to close it up quickly enough to not fall behind the others. Lord knows you don’t want to call attention to yourself at the border.

It’s nearing midnight as we finally start crawling through Ontario, with more stops in completely unnecessary towns that should not be afforded any kind of external transportation service for the sole reason of their shitty ass location. At the St. Catherines bus station, closed at that point and rather desolate and scary looking, we are delayed with further jackassery as some 17 year old in slutty heels start screaming and crying because the driver isn’t supposed to let her on with only garbage bags for luggage. Tears this and bullshit that and phone calls to parents and a nice healthy dose of “Well then maybe you’re too fucking young to be travelling by yourself, eh princess?” (which was my brain speaking, even the asshole driver had more composure than the raging homicidal lunatic rattling around in my head at this point.)

More jackassery as people realize along these teeny little stops that the driver won’t let them off or at least won’t let them get their luggage since they requested these stops “after we have crossed the border” (his precise words) and not “while I’m repacking the luggage so I can put it in a seperate compartment for easy access” (what he apparently meant). So more screaming and hissy fits and yelling in empty parking lots in the wee hours of the morning.

Finally I’m home in a good and proper city with taxis and lights and bus stations that are open 24 hours since they are used 24 hours. Don’t thank me for taking Greyhound you uptight son of a bitch, just give me my fucking suitcase so I can get the fuck home. He does, springing it open yet again. I’m almost there, so close, soooooo close.

But I have to pee. Seriously, I haven’t gone all fucking day because you can’t abandon your luggage for fear of drug muling and theft and blah blah blah. So I race across the waiting room and jam that elevator button so fucking hard and so many times I’m surprised I didn’t break my thumb too. Because you know how it is: once you’re close to the bathroom, the need to pee escalates. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, down in the elevator now, hooooooold it. Hoooooooold it. Okay, and the doors open, and out we go, and –

SHITFUCKMOTHERFUCKERCOCKSUCKINGSONOFABITCHASSWHORE!!!!!!! My suitcase has just sprung open YET AGAIN! GRRRR!!!!! I collect my shit, slam it shut, and after a full day of idiocy, finally snap and kick that motherfucker as hard as I can. Then I run to bathroom, pee, hail a cab out in the streets, lug the superheavy suitcase up the narrow stairs to my flat (dropping my wallet halfway up and having to go retrieve it, bursting into tears at that point) and finally crash into bed.

I wake up the next morning, just a few hours later for work. And my poor toe is shiny and purple. Yep, it’s broken.

I tell you, I should never have got back on the goddamned bus.

Good News! Good Drunken News!

Okay, so in a drunken fit, I finally confessed to my best friend that I am planning to at least try and save up to move down south. She’s not happy. Not happy at all. But being my best friend she put aside her own “What the fuck do you mean you’re even CONSIDERING leaving the city??!?!? to give some fairly decent advice about possibly considering other provinces as an entry port if we do decide to try and get Josh into Canada. And, you know, finally being able to talk to my bestest friend about all the shit that’s been on  my mind lately.

Anyways, yay! Now I can add her to my blogroll and get some decent stats on this here blog. Cause apparently that’s all that matters? Whatever. I’m half drunk and awesome.

I lub you Talea. (That’s ta-LEE-ah, not TAL-ee-ah.) And Josh, obviously 😛

How I Got Here

I’m going to break the general rules of internet existence and tell you that my name is Emerald. My boyfriends name is Josh. I’m not too worried about him in regards to internet stalkers, that’s a pretty common name. I have another blog that I won’t be linking you to anytime soon, and for a very good reason. I’ve started this blog to talk about things that I don’t want people in the real world to know about just yet. Time for a little recreation of the self, if you will.

This blog is about Josh and I, but not to worry: I’m not a retarded fifteen year old doodling hearts on her plastic binder, gazing whimsically at an attractive head of hair some three seats ahead. Instead of oozing and gushing copious amounts of affection and biased praise, I plan to use this outlet as a way of documenting my progress as I slog through a shitfuckton of both momentous occasions and difficulties in regards to our relationship. Yes, I said shitfuckton. If you have a problem with a girl who curses like a sailor, I suggest you keep ridin’ partner, there’s sure to be a blog for you somewhere out there.

But wait, difficulties? Oh no! What can this mean? Are we fighting? At a crossroads? Have I come here to vent about his jackassery? Am I unsure of the sincerity of blah blah blah blah blah? No.

This all brings us to the title of this blog, 800 miles. That’s approximately how far apart we live.

Since I can’t imagine any of you potential readers have stumbled upon our story elsewhere, let me fill you in. Josh and I met right here on WordPress, in a fantabulous twist of the fates. Last October, he commented on a post of mine, and I followed suit on his. The rest is pretty much history involving upgrades to facebook and instant messaging. What started as an exploration of the differences between where we live and what we do turned into an ongoing conversation about who we are as people, how we relate to the rest of the world, and how we feel about life, love, and all the rest of that good stuff. We began to wonder what sort of joke was being played on us – evidently we were meant to be together if not for that pesky mileage issue. I’m not sure exactly when, but it became pretty clear after a while that we were dating anyways. With the miraculous advantage of live chatting, webcams and heartfelt letters, a solid relationship formed without the need to have met face to face. This was an interesting predicament for a girl quite used to nookie whenever she feels like it, and as it turns out it was a refreshing change for the better. At any rate, on March 10th, Josh wrote an in-depth romantic letter (via facebook obviously, we are in our twenties after all) explaining his true feelings for me. His sister-in-law accidentally closed the window, and so the letter was never sent. Forgoing patience, he decided against rewriting it and simply blurted out via msn: I’m in love with you.



Yeah, yeah, I know. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Good thing I’m in love with him too. And so the facebook status was changed to “in a relationship”, a momentous occasion for anyone sucked in by the whole genre, and I began to make plans to visit him. For a number of reasons I’ll get to in a second, these travel plans were held off for a while, leading only to a stronger relationship in the meantime. But eventually, all worked out and off I went. Via Greyhound I did travel, a 24 hour trip filled with…well, all the fantabulous fuckuppery one can expect from spending a day on a bus filled with the public. I made it there in one piece and finally got to see my wonderful boyfriend face to face and spend a week with his amazing family and friends, and obviously his amazing self as well.

I am smitten. There was no awkwardness, a little bit of nervousness, but almost immediately a very smooth transition into face-to-face togetherness, a falling into routine that made it difficult to believe we’d ever been apart, and even more difficult getting back on the bus the next weekend. We’d been talking long term plans from the beginning – our agreement on these most important topics being one of the ways we fell in love in the first place – but now we’re heading in that direction for sure.

But there are a few things in our way.

Firstly is the 800 miles between us. Secondly is the pesky US-Canadian border between us. Yeeeeaaah, you didn’t see that coming, did you? So one of us has to deal with immigration bullshit if we’re to be together, and neither of us are down with running down the aisle simply for a green card. I’m the Canuck, by the way, Josh is from the heart of Dixie Land and damn proud of it. We’ve already decided that Canada has more advantages in the way of schooling and healthcare and economics, but for the immediate future, it’s looking like it’ll be easier for me to move down there for a bit. He’s got a criminal record, you see.

Oh, what’s this! A convicted felon? I’m head over heels for some rebel troublemaker who surely can’t be serious about our future together? From the south no less? Oh, the stereotypes! I can hear the judgement from this side of the computer screen. Well, no. Been there, done that. Josh spent a few years rebelling against his Flanders-esque upbringing (we are talking about the Deep South, do recall) and was finally bitchslapped by the long arm of the law. At this point he realized that if he didn’t calm down some, he was going nowhere fast. And so he smartened up, and from what his friends and family have told me, is barely recognizeable from the what-was seven years ago. As for me, I don’t even know that person. But this is the US judicial system and the red tape drags on and on and on. He still has court dates looming from well before I met him, and every time a date comes up, I’m stuck 800 miles away not knowing if he’s going to be coming back that afternoon with yet another continuation, or if he’s going to be taken away for anywhere from a few weeks to a few years.

What’s a girl to do? Fuck that, that’s what. I’m not sitting by waiting for my man to be taken away and then given back before I figure out how to get our lives together. If Josh is stuck where he is then I’ll have to pack up my shit and move down there. I’ve moved on my own plenty of times, dragged myself out of impoverisHed debt many a time, and I can do it again. Obviously, it’s just going to be more complicated.

So that’s where I am – caught up in a whirlwind of solid love but complicated circumstances. And because I’m sure it’s going to be a story worth retelling later, I thought it wise to document it along the way. Hope you’ll follow along for the ride, it’s sure to be exciting.

Oh, by the way, Josh is going to be here too. We’ve decided on a dual blog, so you’ll be able to hear his side of all this too. Fun times!