In Other News, My Boyfriend is a Manly Man

Well, I can’t say the computer situation has improved much, although I did manage to run a file to protect me against this up and coming Conficker worm. Josh’s boat anchor is still on the mend. However, we’ve gotten some excellent news that I’m not going to share just yet. More planning needs to be put in place first, but rest assured that while things are still frustrating they are also relatively awesome. Hint: it involves that little ticker over on the left there.

In other news, Josh did manage to get his ride fixed, and added some rather manly accessories. Observe:

Yes, it's just that awesome.

Yes, that’s right. He found a deer head. Just lying around, like you do. And how else would one strap a skull to your handlebars than with rusty barbed wire?

You might think this would bother me, being vegetarian and all. But that’s part of the deal when you’re in love with a carnivorous manly man. Besides, it’s 800 miles south, already dead, and frankly I have bigger battles to pick. Like convincing said beloved manly man that Kangaroo boxing is not a good idea.



Oy with the vey! Those things don’t just hit you, they’ve got Velociraptor toes! At least he eventually agreed with me after seeing another video where some British tourist ended up needing 36 stitches in the crotchular area after getting a swift kick.

Next on the debate block: demolition derbies. I’ll keep you posted on any and all future injuries.

Some Semblance of an Update


We haven’t exploded off into the universe or anything. Yet. But the constant fuck-uppery continues. Josh’s fried computer needs a new hard drive, and his scooter has only just been repaired after about two weeks of non-functioning. If he were here in Toronto, he would be able to get just about anywhere. Not so much in NC – he had to walk miles just to get to a friends house for computer advice. So we’re still running well below normal capacity for the time being.

In other news, I managed to finish off last week’s never-ending series of unfortunate events by knocking a FULL glass of water right onto my laptop. Snap-crackle-pop, yo. By the next morning I still only had use of about five keys so I took it on down to Best Buy. The Geek Squad was of little help. They believed that because the keyboard was dead, there was no way in hell the motherboard would have made it through. I would need to get a new one, which costs in the area of $700 – or a new laptop. Dammit!

Turns out that *just* the keyboard is toast. I managed to borrow a spare from work until I can get a wireless one – it’s working just fine Best Buy, take that! Now we just have to wait until Josh has a decent window to the world again and maybe we can get around to celebrating our anniversary good and proper.

We’ll both have cute and awesome things to show to the world at large, hopefully before too long. Until then, we’ll continue shaking our fists at the sky and fighting the good fight.


Stay tuned for updates. If one of us ends up on the news for finally snapping and setting a tower of computers up in flames, I’ll be sure to send pictures.

Fuck You Daylight Savings

Daylight Savings is not my friend. Daylight Savings is on my ‘stab with a sharp wedge of pink plastic from the cup I just smashed’ list.

On top of being dark and cold in the mornings again, making it hard to get out of bed, I can’t get anything to work for me this week. The plan was to let you all know what I’ve been so busy doing this past week or so, which was busting my ass to get this cute project finished for the big one year anniversary that neither Josh nor I expected to come around so fast. Josh of course was planning his own awesome surprise for me. On top of that, I was also planning to sing with joy that our savings for moving me down south have reached the half way point and we’re now close enough to almost taste it.

Instead I can tell you that our anniversary is pretty much sucking. Josh’s computer is fucked, meaning we can’t share either of our projects, and communication is about 90% cut.

But what about those shiny videophones I got, don’t those still work without msn? Yeah, for what they cost, they damn well should. But they don’t. They barely work at all. Half the time one of us will call the other and get a black screen instead of a connection, and the other half of the time we’ll get kicked off a call after half an hour. ACN – you can suck my metaphorical balls. And because they’re VOIP phones, they don’t work very well when desperately trying to call each others land line to figure out what the fuck is going on.

So great, Josh gets home and with no way to reach me, exhausted after a day’s work, falls asleep. And I’m here wondering if he’s dead or what, since the last time I couldn’t get a hold of him it turned out he was in the hospital. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that scare last week? Nothing to freak out about, unless that is you’re 800 miles away with no way of knowing what the hell is going on. Turns out he just needs to seriously cut back on the beer/cigarettes/coffee/spicy foods/anything that will irritate your stomach. And of course, serious cause for worry when he seemed to disappear again today. At least this time it was just an inability to even tell me he was home – worst fears quelled, rage at technology fueled.

I’m going to go enjoy what little time remains of this night with Josh, who for at least the next twenty, fuzzy, poor-quality digital minutes or so, is able to actually use the overpriced plastic anchors we call videophones, so that I can watch him try to reset his computer enough to work for an evening. Awesome. Right now I’m just happy he didn’t get hit in the face with a forklift or something today, because that would be just our luck.

Despite the fact that we actually met and developed our relationship – and continue to do so, hence the frustration – via technology, it overall conspires against me. Today, it is working at the pace of lopsided wheelbarrow driven by blind nuns on a Friday the 13th that still somehow calls for Sunday driving.

It is Friday the 13th this week, isn’t it? It is. Fuck me, this week is sucking.

Dear Daylight Savings: You suck and I hate you. Leave me alone so I can enjoy time with my boyfriend. Thanks and stuff.

Rocky Horror at the Body Shop

I do refer to ‘The Holidays’ instead of Christmas sometimes. It’s somewhat PC, since my environment surrounds me with many different strokes of folks and when the season is upon us I like to hope everyone enjoys whatever the hell they’re doing. But this is only half the motivation. Since my birthday is slightly before Christmas, a month prior to be precise, and since ‘Christmas’ starts earlier and earlier every year, I have come to refer to my own fete as part of ‘the holidays’. Yes, I am fantastic enough to look at all the glittery lights and snowflakes and assume that they are there in celebration of me. I think someone, somewhere once (probably in University) got offended by that, but where I come from Christmas is nothing more than a reminder to spend money. So fuck it, it’s my damn birthday.

Anyways, I tend to get much in the way of gift cards and the like throughout the holidays. I’m not the kind of person to be offended by the “it’s so impersonal” approach. I do enjoy a random thoughtful gift, something small and inexpensive that demonstrates a close knowledge of my life and loves, a reminder that I’m liked. A surprise Starbucks on a bad day, a nice pen or other desktop knick-knack. But for the mandatory gift-giving seasons, where I feel we do no more than exchange money instead of time, hit me up with gift cards. I’m all over that. I’m sure you’ve got enough people in your own life that are difficult enough to buy for and I’m not going to be one of them. I don’t need stuff.

This year the cards were Winners, Lululemon, and the Body Shop. They procured, respectively, the Mom Purse (seriously, when the fuck did I start carrying around a big-ass, doubles-as-a-laptop-case, knocks over old people behemoth of a purse?), a yoga dvd (as yet unopened…) and some Mandarin Orange Orchid perfume.

Let me tell you about the perfume. It’s not much, simple and fun. I don’t love it, I don’t hate it. I do wish I had been able to actually shop around and purchase something I really wanted, but I unfortunately got sucked into the consumerism mind trick that says “YOU HAVE ENTERED A STORE. YOU MAY NOT LEAVE UNLESS YOU PURCHASE SOMETHING. YOU HAVE A GIFT CARD, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST MAKE UP YOUR STUPID MIND???”

I really wish I had just turned on my heels and left the store. My poor dad who was with me just shook his head and stayed out by the fountain – no way in hell kiddo, you’re on your own in there.

Tell me, what comes to mind when you think of ‘The Body Shop,’ hmm?

It Used To Be For Hippies

Do you, much like myself, still think of ‘non-animal testing’ and ‘natural’ and ‘fresh’ and other familiar, somewhat hippie terms? Oatmeal scrubs and raspberry soaps? Body butters, surely!

Natural Looking Faces - A Good Thing!

Well. I’m sorry if I haven’t made a trek into one of these little hovels of hippiedom anytime recently. I now live in an area of the city in which it is far easier to go to the indie natural store up the street whenever I have the urge to buy something environmentally friendly. So yes, it has been a while since my presence has graced this formerly fresh-faced facility, I will admit. However, given that the last time I checked they’re still all yay-environment, I was a little surprised to be not just greeted, but accosted, by this face:

What. The. Ass.


When did The Body Shop start competing with MAC and failing terribly? Have you never heard of image branding? What the hell? If I wanted to be blind sided by glaring liner and oonksha-oonksha-oonksha-wikki-wikki-whiirrr music I would have gone into Stitches or wherever the hell young skinny people shop for saran-wrap pants these days. I want earthy! I want clear skin and cotton shirts! I sure as hell don’t want some Kelly Osbourne sans-rehab done up a la Rocky Horror getting between me and the shelving within thirty seconds of my crossing the threshold!

After telling Body Shop Barrista #1 that I’m more than capable of browsing without having my upper lip waxed, I did a quick circle of the premises to investigate the sale items, the new items, the smelliest items. It seems we’ve lost the way of the granola, but at least the place still smells fantastic – perhaps all is not lost. This may be why I ended up at the perfume section in the first place, it’s not like I’m an otherwise frequent user.

This is where Barrista #2 showed up.


My hand had not yet touched a sample bottle or even reached for the little paper tabs intended for test sprays when a glaring flowery head accessory came dashing towards me, all in a flurry about gift sets. Don’t buy the single bottle! My name is Anna and we’ve got gift sets! Yes, oh yes, you can get not just a bottle of the scent you need to live, but powders and creams and matching little boxes that will go gloriously moldy in that unvented bathroom of yours! Oh, but not in that scent. Or that scent. How about the lavender? I know you seem to be interested in Mandarin Orange Orchid, but if you simply decide to like what I like, you can get more of what I like!

Hey Anna? Fuck off.

So this is probably why I grabbed the Mandarin Orange Orchid, to show Anna that I was so intent on my desired purchase that I would forgo all offers of extras in order to claim my prize. I covet this little bottle, and not you or Dr. Frankenberry Lipliner who got me at the door will stop me! Get out of my way, I’m headed for the cash!

I got my perfume. I went back into the mall, shaking the music and lights and anger from my head. My dad greeted me at the Starbucks, marvelled over the noise I had just faced (remember, a year ago I probably would have cried) and waited patiently while I poured enough honey into my rooibos tea to sugar-shock myself into a nice daze for the ride home. It took me a week to bust out with the first spray, and if it hadn’t been at least remotely pleasant I probably would have just bombed someone with it out my back window instead of making the return trek to have it exchanged.

The perfume was about $20. The gift card was $25. I won’t be spending the remainder any time soon, so uh…yeah. Let me know if you want $5 in Body Shop Bucks.

 Stupid Body Shop.