Happy Not-So-New Year

Have you noticed winter kicks my ass much? As soon as the temperature drops, my brain seems to freeze along with the pipes, and it becomes a struggle just to roll my unmotivated and generally winter-blah’d self off the futon first thing in the morning. It’s dark when I get up, it’s dark when I get off work; it’s cold, slushy, and all around miserable. Fuck winter, man. Fuck it.

The only good thing about winter so far was that I flew south to spend Christmas with Josh. Unfortunately, that merriment ended as soon as my return flight touched down in Buffalo – in the middle of a blizzard. But wait, it gets better.

One delayed hour on the frozen tarmac later, I shoved my way past throngs of snowbirding elderly (who should NOT be allowed to travel with ‘carry-ons’ they can’t lift out of the overhead compartments without assistance), ELEVEN people blocking the aisles waiting for wheelchairs, three screaming toddlers and a fat guy with a cat. My luggage took even longer. I was also starving, having only brought ten dollars for travel-food without realizing that a 9am airport breakfast of yogurt and O.J. would cost eight bucks (you’d think I’d have this figured out by now, it being my third trip), or that all the delays would bring me well past 4pm before I could get to a bank machine. Said bank machine promptly rejected my card. Turns out the last machine I had used before my vacation was of the sketchy variety, and my card had been frozen as protection against card copying fraud. In retrospect, I’m quite grateful – but try telling that to me when I’m starving, tired, and pissed.

Good thing my mom was there to pick me up, or I might have kicked something and broken toes again. She had agreed to drive me to/from Buffalo since it’s loads cheaper to fly within the U.S. than across the Can-Am border. It’s also not that long of a drive, and we’ve got fun family along the way, so she was happy to oblige. She’s also got better luck with technology – her bank card worked just fine, so off we left with a few extra bucks and the intent of stopping for a quick bite to eat before hitting the border.

And then we got outside. Ohhhh, the outside.

I’m not going to describe the outside. But it looked something like this:

static snowstorm

got snow?

And sounded something like this:

What exit do we take? Nine, nine, the map says nine. Yeah, but where is nine? I don’t know, I can hardly see anything! Oh my god, it’s getting worse! This isn’t safe, we need to pull over! I can’t see the road! There is no over to pull to! Just watch the signs, can you see them!? I’ll lean my head out the window – ack, blargh, spit, cough! – I think that’s exit…three! Exit three! So we still have…crap, a long ass way to go. Shit, this is a total white out, I can’t even see the car in front of me! From now on trips to Buffalo are only for good weather! This is so not safe, this is SO! NOT! SAFE! I think that’s a truck up there, careful. Is that a truck? I think that’s a truck. Oh fuck, that’s a truck! It’s on it’s side, it’s flipped! Swerve, swerve!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!

Soooo, yeah. That sucked. By the time I got home and into bed I was already counting down until my next vacation.

On the plus side, Southwest Airlines gave me a spiffy credit for the whole ordeal, enough to cover a flight! Totally worth the hassle, I’d say, especially since within-US flights not around Christmas are pretty reasonably priced, so as soon as I’ve got time saved up at work again I’m getting my ass back on a plane.

In the meantime, here’s some highlights from the holidays:

kiss love woot!

Lovin' up on my man.

manly construction

Josh being manly with his tools. Haha. Tools.

dogs rage against the removal of the carpet

The dogs were less than thrilled with the decision to reno out the carpeting.

dog wood flooring

New wood floors are confusing!

rad kitchen friends

Visiting rad friends in their rad kitchen

the puppy and the boyfriend

Not our puppy 😦

hockey night in...NC

My dad sent a Leafs jersey down as a Christmas gift - woot!

Scrapbook

Josh took me out to choose a scrapbook for our photos...

scrapbook

...and even helped me put it together!

cute shirts much?

I got us matching paw-holding otter shirts! (Which other than this one photo op, will not be worn simultaneously - because there's cute and then there's revolting.)

What’s the deal with the otter shirts? I saw them on icanhascheezburger as a shirt-of-the-day just before I left Toronto and HAD to have them. So I bought them on the spot and had them shipped down to us to arrive just before Christmas as a surprise! Why otters? Because Josh had sent me this video a while earlier to make me smile:

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The Same Ol’ Situation


The recurring conversation with a man:

Dude: So your girlfriend lives in Canada? (said incredulously and with a hint of disdain)

Me: Yeah, she lives in Toronto.

Dude: So what the fuck is wrong with you man? You do know there’s a shit ton of pussy walking around right here? Why the fuck would you hook up with some chick in another country?

Me: I didn’t exactly plan it like that, it just kind of happened. I met her online and eventually fell in love with her, and that was that.

Dude: So how can you consider it a real relationship if you aren’t even getting your dick wet? I mean, at least tell me you’re getting some strange on the side. You can’t go that long without fuckin man, it’s not healthy. You gotta respect your dick.

Me: Nope, no tang on the side, sorry to let you down. My dick will be alright. Besides, I wasn’t exactly swimming in pussy before I met her. Although now that I think about it, chicks do seem to be much more available now that I’m not looking for them. That’s weird.

Dude: Fuck all that, you’re crazy man. Suckin’ ain’t fuckin’ and eatin’ ain’t cheatin’, you know what I mean. If she can’t take care of you like a woman should you should be able to get some love when you need it. Besides how do you know she isn’t fuckin around on you up there? What happens if you find out she’s been bangin some guy this whole time and you’re passing up pussy left and right. You’re gonna regret the fuck out of all those missed chances. Bitches will do that shit, it’s not just guys who are dogs. She’s probably stringin your dumb ass along getting just what she wants and you’re too fuckin stupid to realize it.

Me: Well I don’t really know that she isn’t fuckin around on me. But then again you don’t know what your old lady is doing when she isn’t with you. For all you know she could be out sucking dick right now. I’m not worried about it, I’ll handle myself, and if I find out she’s been banging someone else I’ll deal with that when I have to. I trust her, she’s a good girl. And suckin is fuckin, eatin is cheatin, just so you know.

Dude: Aw hell no! If she’s not slinging pussy your way, you should get it where you can.

Me: So if you go on a week long trip to the beach, does that mean your woman can go fuck whoever she wants?

Dude: No way! But that’s not the point. Listen I know this chick you would love. She’s good lookin, and she has had a hard time finding good men. She just attracts scumbags. And she’s got a ton of money. She’s real thick like you like them. She could take good care of you man, trust me, you could land that. Come out this weekend, I’ll introduce you two. She’s got a kid, but a real nice house. You could probably stay there.

Me: She’s morbidly obese isn’t she? Why can’t she find a good man of her own?

Dude: No no no no, man, She’s a little bigger, but pretty in the face. She just attracts the wrong kind of guys.

Me: Yeah, like the kind of guy who would cheat on his girlfriend to sleep with a single mother with low self esteem due to her weight who habitually allows men to walk all over her and use her for money and a place to stay?

Dude: …. …. Whatever man, you’re a good guy. You could treat her right. I just can’t see how you can be in a relationship with some bitch on the other side of the planet who you aren’t even fucking.

Me: Don’t worry about my cock, I have everything under control. And besides, I already have my hands full with one woman, I sure as shit don’t need another.

The recurring conversation with a chick:

Chick: So you’re dating a girl from Canada?

Me: Yeah, we’ve been talking for ten months, and together for five.

Chick: Awwwwwww. That’s so sweet. I bet you miss her all the time don’t you?

Me: Yes, all the time. It’s rough some days, knowing she’s out there but I can’t be with her.

Chick: So she came down for a visit right? How long until you get to see her again?

Me: I don’t know, at least six months, possible years. There’s too many variables for me to put a solid estimate on it.

Chick: Oh my God! So you’re not gonna have sex for six months or more? That’s insane! (cocks head to the side) Are you really gonna wait that whole time?

Me: I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Chick: That is so, oh my God, just so romantic! You must really be in love. She’s lucky to have a guy like you. (beginning to flirt) You know my boyfriend just moved away. I just couldn’t stay with him in an exclusive relationship. I couldn’t go that long without the sexual aspect. Even if it’s not serious I just like having someone there to hold me at night, and take care of me when I need sex. (seriously hustling that pussy, batting eyes, brushing my arm, etc)

Me: Uh … yeah, being alone is definitely frustrating. But I have to keep my eyes on the prize. It took me my whole life to find someone who fit me right, and loved me as much as I loved them. I wouldn’t give that up for all the temporary affection in the world.

Chick: (getting the point) That is so sweet. I really hope you two find all the love you are looking for.

Men don’t understand how I could seriously date a girl I am not fucking every night. Even men who are married and in love. Even men with long term relationships. It’s apparently too much to wrap around their minds. They don’t understand why I would not have guilt free sex on the side when there’s no chance of it getting back to my woman. I guess they don’t understand that I found something so great it transcends sex. Something worth sacrificing everything else for. Something worth saving for. Something worth fighting for. If I just wanted pussy I wouldn’t be in a serious relationship to begin with.

Women seem to want what they can’t have. They see a man who loves a girl so much he’s willing to stay essentially alone for an undetermined amount of time in the hopes that everything will work out alright in the end. And somehow all that lip gloss and jewelry crosses the wires in their head to where they think they can just snatch that for themselves. They don’t understand that if they could succeed in stealing me away from my true love for a night they would not be getting the very thing they find so attractive. And they don’t understand that I want something so much more than a brief passion and a warm body in the morning.

It’s hard defending this thing I call love every day. It’s hard trying to explain to people how I feel when they so obviously are in a completely different place in life. But when all is said and done, I know what I have, and I know what it’s worth. I know that no matter what I have to do to get it, everything will be worth the sacrifice. I still want to fuck every hot bitch I meet at a party. I wanted too before I fell in love, and my dick didn’t stop magically working overnight. I still find tons of girls attractive. I still have needs. The difference is that now I found the pussy to end all pussies. The everlasting gobstopper of love and affection. And if I play my cards right, I’ll have something head and shoulders above the trysts that continually left me feeling more alone than before I had a stranger in my arms. The difference is that now I want to wake up to the same face for the rest of my life. And I found the face I want.

Plus VD is a bitch and I hate condoms, but whatever, all that other shit sounded more romantic.

8 Things To Do When You Turn 80

So I’ve been on this kick lately. Josh has gotten himself in some legal trouble in the past, the sort of thing that comes with the territory of being a rambunctious young adult male. Whatever. But every now and then I have to remind him that certain things aren’t such a great idea, like stealing an antennae from a cop car. I’m all for the rebel streak, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like to at least stay under the wire until the legal issues surrounding his current situation and its impact on the brouhaha that is getting one of our asses over the border have long settled down.

However, I’m not a total prude. And eventually, I say fuck it. You see, I’ve been glamourizing the elderly lately. Well not really, ’cause they’re still old and doddery with their change counting and step-shuffling. I’ve been glamourizing being old. I don’t mean old as in “Oh dear me, which wrinkle cream shall I choose to fight whatever number signs of aging the most expensive brand tells me I need to erase?” I mean old as in getting kicks out of a more realistic cryptkeeper look for scaring the shit out of the neighbourhood brats at Halloween.

I’ve got plans for those years, and I’m planning on Josh being with me. I’m sure we’ll be a little more on the frail side, but certainly no less bad ass. I used to want a nice car and have my hair done up every day, the posh old lady who’s offspring had better visit lest they be cut from the will. Nowadays, I’m more about the rickety old truck and big baggy pants. I’ll do the classy thing for a while, with the Hyacinth Bucket hats and obnoxious suits. But once the big 8-0 hits, I figure there’s more important things in life. Like living a little. And so, I have made plans for an elderly crime spree. Natch, Josh will probably be a bit more extreme than I.

Here’s what I see coming:

1. Loiter, loiter, loiter. I want to go to Timmy Ho’s and see how long it takes them to kick me out after buying one itty bitty coffee.

2. Shake, rattle and roll baby! You know the shaky old ladies sliding pennies across the counter at the pharmacy? Fuck that, I’m gonna be the one to sprinkle them all over the floor and make awkward bystanders pick them up for me. Josh is expected to clear out the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny dish.

3. Petty theft ahoy. I got in so much trouble for stealing a Skor bar when I was five. Or maybe I was never actually caught but I had to live with the fear of getting in trouble. Either way, nobody is going to stop a little old lady from walking out of the store with a chocolate bar or a pair of big plastic earrings in her confused hands, especially if she’s muttering about Julie or some other imaginary grandchild.

Hyancinth Bucket is sort of my hero

 4. Public urination. This one is more for Josh. I figure he can pee on trees in the park while I loiter nearby with my stolen chocolate. Cause peeing outdoors is difficult enough for chicks even when we don’t have brittle bones and creaking joints. However, I do plan to talk very loudly about my need for Depends, even if I don’t actually need them.

5. Impeding traffic. I’m half blind as it is, so I’m assuming I’ll have my license (if I ever get one) taken away well before 80. And Josh, wellllllll not so much with the driving. But there are scooters! Not the cool not-quite-a-motorcycle scooters that you can take for sweet jumps, but the motorized carts with little baskets on the front or back and a sign on the back that says “I may be slow, but at least I’m in front of you!”

Step one: drive cart halfway through intersection.

Step two: slow down as that little counter on the crosswalk starts to flash.

Step three: turn half way around, get lost.

Step four: as light turns in favour of oncoming traffic, putter back and forth, forgetting what the point of crossing the street was in the first place.

Step five: escorted home by police, preferably to the kids’ house as payback for all the times I’m assuming they’ll be brought home by the cops.

6. Embezzlement. Still haven’t worked this one out yet.

7. Rampant drug use. Okay, it’s already pretty apparent that I smoke weed every single day because it’s just plain good for you. But I’m not retarded enough to go lighting up a joint as I’m walking down the street. Mostly because I don’t know how to roll, although that’s beside the point. I’m completely convinced that even if it hasn’t been legalized sixty years from now, there’s going to be way worse shit distracting the po-po from one rickety old couple with funny smelling cigarettes and a really bad craving for something deep fried.

8. Drunk and Disorderly in Public. Because really, why not?

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.

Awwww

Awwww

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!