Sunday, September 26, 2010
Celebrating Five Years of Marital Bliss
Today Mr. Assmuppet and I are celebrating five years of marital bliss.
"But wait!" I hear you say. "You've been married far longer than five years!"
"Yes, we have," I reply politely, as I am always polite even when you make totally asswanked comments like that.
We've been together fourteen years almost to the day. I don't recall the date we first met but it was around this time of year, give or take a week. We met online and it was a long complicated thingie during which we both almost ran, seeing I was married to someone else at the time.
My first marriage was on the rocks. The first time we had mentioned divorce was two years prior to my encountering Mr. Assmuppet. Hubby #1 and I were all wrong for each other, but we just LIKED each other so much ... we were basically maintaining but we both knew it was only a matter of time. I, however, certainly wasn't looking for anyone. Because marriage sucked and I wanted nothing to do with it.
Mr. Assmuppet and I first met in person on December 26, 1996. Somehow he talked me into driving down there the day after Xmoose.
He had also talked me into proposing to him. We were talking online one night and he said something along the lines of "well, now we're brave enough to say the L word, you do know that if this works out I'm going to want to say the M word too." I said "What, do you want to get married?" And then he said "Yes, I accept."
I said "no no no, YOU have to propose to ME," and he said "why would I? You just proposed to me and I accepted."
Fucker.
I didn't know what he looked like. He had sent me one picture and it was fuzzy and I had a totally crap monitor so really even if it had been a good picture I wouldn't have had a clue.
I should have known at this point that it was going to be nothing but trouble, and yet I made plans to go see him. I sort of felt that I had to, seeing that we were engaged and all.
I was a fairly new driver. I didn't get my license until I was 33. There was no reason to do so; I lived in the city, parking was scarce and public transit was plentiful.
I got my license after my best friend died of AIDS in 1995 ... I regretted so badly not being able to take him out and about. Towards the end it was so hard for him to get anywhere, and I wished time after time that I had a car.
Anyhow, after Martin died, I swore I was never going to be in that position again, so I went and got my license and got me a Toyota Corolla. She kicked ass, and her name was Smedley. Yes, I know that's a boy's name and she was a girl but it was her choice and she served me well for many years.
So ... I had agreed to go and spend two or three days with this man in Tacoma, Washington. I got in the car on the morning of December 26th and started driving south. By the time I hit Seattle, even if I had changed my mind, the snow was so bad that there was no way I could have turned back.
They'd closed the highway behind me.
When I got to Tacoma ... well ... um ... (and anyone who's been reading me for any length of time could see this coming) ... I got lost.
I sort of thought I took the right exit but I was a newish driver and there was snow and I was in a strange country and who knew that right and left weren't the same thing and bla bla bla.
Fortunately I had a cellphone and I called. He answered and assumed that I was calling from Canada to say I couldn't get there because of the weather. Instead I was calling from outside of some strange chicken barbecue restaurant SOMEwhere in Tacoma saying I couldn't get back home so he'd have to tell me how to get there.
It took about another hour, and a couple of phone calls and a lot of sliding about on roads and some white knuckles but then I got there.
And, you know what? He was sort of a jerk.
I thought he didn't like me. He thought I didn't like him. We were snowed in and I couldn't get back home and had to stay for six days instead of the two or three that we'd planned.
And during that time ... well, it sort of worked out.
If I'd been able to leave after two days, we wouldn't be married right now, because it took him longer than that to start acting sort of normal and like he was happy I was there.
Boys are dumb.
I might have been a little dumb too.
And after I got home we talked every night online and we phoned and I visited and bla bla bla
I drove there almost every Friday night and back every Sunday for two years.
Eventually he moved to Canada and came to live with me and after a huge amount of paperwork, money, trials and tribulations we got hitched.
12 years ago today.
And so yes, it's our anniversary, but we're not celebrating 12 years of marital bliss, or at least I'm not.
Ben and I are both difficult people (you! In the back! The one who is gasping with almost-believable astonishment that I might be difficult ... shut up.)
At times our relationship has been utter goat-raping, bleach-swilling, assmangling hell.
And, like all marriages, at times it's been really fucking boring ... totally normal, nothing to report ... I bought a newspaper, he made toast and ate it, bla bla bla.
A lot of the time it's been "good" but not "bliss".
I figure, mathematically, out of the last 12 years, five of them have been bliss.
And that's a pretty good percentage, really.
Please join us in celebrating all of those twelve years, including the five of bliss.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
World Wide Spin in Public Day!
Did you? I did!
Well, um, no, I didn't, but I will at work tonight and I want points for that.
It's all mental, all the time Chez Lapin. We're moving in 13 days and apparently I have some wholesale orders to ship and bla bla bla.
Blogging will not resume with any semblance of regularity or sanity (like there was ever that here) for a couple of weeks.
While you're waiting, please meet my new boyfriend
He doesn't know he's my new boyfriend, of course, but that doesn't matter as my ten previous boyfriends and sixteen girlfriends have also never met me or been made aware of my existence in any manner. It's so becoming to have crushes when you're fifty years old. Shut up. It is.
And now, seeing I have to be up for work in less than six hours I shall skedaddle.
Go listen to Mr. Cale and spin some shit, k?
Friday, September 10, 2010
Tomorrow is September 11th
Yes, I know you all know that. Shut up.
Tomorrow is September 11th. A day upon which, nine years ago, the world changed for so many of us.
I remember waking up that morning. Our radio alarm was tuned to a rock station, but there was no music. There were people talking about planes crashing into buildings and unthinkable hatred and destruction.
They NEVER have more than a few seconds of talk on that show. It's all music, all the time. "Playing what they want". A zippy and rude bunch of folks who mock those who try to make requests. (Try to figure out why I like them -- no, go on. I'll wait while you do.)
I thought at first it was a joke. A "War of the Worlds" thing, you know? It took me quite some time to shake off the sleep and realize that it was real.
All the way to work in the car that morning I kept listening to the radio, and looking at my small daughter in the back seat and trying to comprehend it.
I still don't understand it.
When we got to work I took her to the daycare and all of the parents and workers there were moving in a daze. Everyone was hugging a child ... as if to reassure ourselves that our babies were safe, even if those of others were not. That there was life and hope. The adults were taking comfort from the children. I've never seen that place so silent.
I held my baby for a long time that morning.
I got to the office late, but nobody cared. We were all just stunned. The news came in all day; little to nothing got done -- we were all just moving on autopilot.
I hope to never live through a day like that again. And I'm inordinately grateful that I did live through it, unlike the almost three thousand people who did not.
Tomorrow is the ninth anniversary of that day. There has been talk of burning the Quran, of perpetuating the hatred, of making things worse.
Me? I can't buy into any of that. It's not about the Quran. It's not about the Muslims. It's not about the Christians.
And it doesn't have to be about the hate, or about revenge.
I'm not going to get all Xian and forgivey and shit on you -- you deal with it however you need to. I'm not your counsellor or your leader (and if I'm your role model then you likely need a counsellor or a leader -- dude, I'm nuts). I'm just me, and the way I'm going to deal with it is to do one small thing that will make things better.
Oh, it won't make anything big better. No, no. I'm going to maybe buy a coffee for a bum, maybe give someone bus fare, maybe put a couple of quarters in a parking meter so someone has time to get back and move their car before they get a ticket.
Perhaps I'll pat a puppy, or even just pick up a piece of garbage. Help someone across the road. Donate a can of tuna to the food bank.
Just one small thing.
And I'm not going to post about what it was. I don't need accolades for picking up a popsicle stick or telling someone they have toilet paper on their shoe. That's not what this is about.
I'm not going to post about what it was; but I'm going to do it.
It won't fix everything. In fact it likely won't fix anything, but it might make one small thing a little better for one person.
And I think that's a far better way to commemorate the day and honour the memories of those who died than is perpetuating the hate.
Just one little thing. I hope you'll join me.
