All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble. ~Raymond Hull

I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life. ~Rita Rudner

I meant for last weeks blog to have a quick little memo at the top about what I should call SH, and then I could move on to a real post.

But the memo kind of turned into a mission statement (oh Jerry MaGuire, I know how you fell down that slippery slope). So it just become last weeks post.

So now, on to this weeks, post, which is, in fact last weeks, re-heated.

I do believe, I may be a little bit difficult to live with.

Every once in a while I have one of those moments, when you step out side your body and float about yourself and see whats really going on in the world from someone else's point of view.

Every time I have a moment like that I jump right back in my self and start thanking the Powers That Be that people actually put up with me.

Some times I'm amazed I have anyone left in my life who is sane.

SH is on the top of that list.

Take our latest excursion together.

I am dragging him to "Simply For Life".

No we don't want to loose weight, please stop attacking me for making my family be healthy.

I work with the owner, I like the program and what it stands for, and I believe we could all use a little wake up call sometimes.

Since I'm a wimp and seem unable to do anything on my own any more (note the fact that my sister is doing Bust-A-Move, I wouldn't sign up for Belly Dancing until Michelle agreed to go, and I seem unable to make any sort of decision on anything without polling clients about it for three weeks first) I some how convinced him to do it with me.

Actually I tried to trick him into doing it with me.

The radio announced that Blue Cross gave a Two-for-One special with SFL, last fall. I somehow managed to convince him that we could still get that deal. (My complete inability to lie will be saved for another post, but I promise you, this little white lie was a lot of stress for me)

I should also note that I have spent the past year pestering him to do it, talking about everyone else I know that's done it, having dinner parties with friends who are on it and making him eat weird vegetables to prove to him they taste good....

Add an entire year of me nagging, to the promise that it's actually free for him to do it, and that is how I convinced him to do this with me. ( I'm not mean, I just know it's a waste of time for me to cut up carrot sticks if he's going to be sitting on the couch beside me eating double fudge brownies and whipped cream)

Monday morning comes, and we need to drive an hour to our initial appointment. We don't do early mornings well, especially ones we aren't getting paid for.

So I'm in a general disorganized mood, thinking I can do fifteen more things than is actually humanly possible before we leave, and he is pestering me with silly questions like "So what is it that we're actually going to have to do for this first appointment" and "Is this like a ten minute appointment, or an hour and a half?"

Hell I've only worked with Kim for a year, and promoted her business to every client that walked through my door, how am I supposed to know the answers to these questions??

We get on the road, and about halfway there, we hit a white out.... that's right... there's no snow falling from the sky, or in the forecast, yet I can't seem to see more than six inches in front of my windshield.

It's just yesterdays snow conveniently blowing all over the highway.

That's okay, all this driving at 40km/h gives us a chance to sit and think, and talk....

SH "So it's still two for the price of one right?"

All I had to say was "Yes" I'm driving bumper to bumper in a line of cars in white out conditions.

He would not have found it suspicious if I didn't give him a detailed answer on how the company manages to stay in the black while offering 50% discounts year round.

But no... I just can't seem to form the words.... so instead... I slip out the truth, and try to spin it into a lie.

"No they've changed it to a percentage off... but I think it works out to just the same anyway... something about paperwork....taxes...um... I think they're cheating the system....mumble....kinda the same...uh....at least close...mumble...don't know...cumquats....."

Yea... I really can't lie......

"So is it fifty percent off?"

"I uh.. I don't know really exactly, but it's not that much....really.."

At this point I trail off and turn the radio up a little.... we both have a silent understanding that I have been caught in a lie, and that there is nothing to be done about it now. Trying to get the truth out of me will only result in more random mumbling that will just be waste of energy for both of us.

So we drive on, and I try to think of something to change the subject.. like what else we're going to do in Yarmouth while we're there... plan our day, Kent, Canadian Tire, Maritime, and we'll head to our appointment.....oh....

Me "Uh did you bring your phone?"

SH "Why"

Me "Cause I need to call Alayne"

Turns out I work with Kim in her satelight location, and we're going to her main office.

I have no clue where that is....so I have to call one of her other clients for directions.

(no I don't have the number for the SFL office... why would I have that??)

I'm pretty sure if it was legal he would have thrown me from the moving car at that point, but since it's not, and he's generally a law abiding citizen, I am alive to tell the tale.

Fast forward to finally getting to the appointment, it's nothing scary, a bunch of questions about our health and habits, things are running smoothly, I'm starting to congratulate myself on the inside for pushing so hard to do this.

Then she says it...

"And, since your Blue Cross members you get a 10% discount!!!"

She says it like it's a good thing.

Like it's an announcement we should celebrate. And normally you would, if you thought you had to pay full price, you would be happy to see 10% off.

However, if you were expecting something more like a close-to-almost-50% discount, you might be a little shocked.

He shot a look at me, I barely kept myself from crawling under the table and hiding beneath the high blood pressure pamphlets.

I couldn't make eye contact. If I did he would know for certain that the 10% was not a surprise to me at all.

He also knows I'm fairly good at math, so I couldn't tell him I didn't realize two-for-one, and 10% off weren't actually different... by about 40-freakin-percent.

He has the patience of a saint, so again, I live to tell the tale.

Then we head out to pay. My only saving grace is, he doesn't actually know how much this all costs. But as we stand there together, and the receptionist starts inputing our stuff into the computer and asking if we'd like to pay by cheque or credit card I start to sweat bullets.

It was seriously the first phase of my detox, I lost about 3 pounds of toxins just at the counter worrying about what would come out of his mouth when she said the grand total for today, plus the monthly membership fee.

Then, just like a three pointer thrown as the buzzer goes off in the fourth quarter to tie the game, I get my Hail Mary.

He goes to the bathroom.

I grab my wallet, throw $350 cash at the poor receptionist, and hiss "He has no idea how much this costs!! Don't tell him!!!!"

To her credit she barely even flinched. She just calmly picked up the fluttering tens and fives and continued about her work, (Makes me wonder how many other wives have duped their husbands in her presence).

And finally to his credit, we have both survived one week of no coffee, or white sugar, or grains as a 10pm snack. (Harder than quitting smoking was giving up my 10pm Cheerios).

I have not once stabbed him with my fork at supper because he gets 3/4 cup of brown rice while I get nothing but a pile of vegetables and something I like to call Starch Envy.

He has not once looked at me while I have wined about how I miss toast, or hate salad, or that tea makes me sea sick, and said "You got us into this healthy mess in the first place"

Now that we're on this "being healthy" track, he can look forward to a much longer life of putting up with me.

A rose by any other name would make Valentines Day confusing...

"But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you "Sue.'"
I'm beginning to run into a small problem when It comes to writing this blog.

While I choose to air my life and dirty laundry for anyone to read for the sake of a healthy dose of humour, the man that I share my life with does not in-fact, want me to share HIS life, with the world.

Fair enough.

I do not post his photo on Facebook, I even patrol for him and ask people who have posted his picture to take them down.

(On a side note, if you ever feel like finding out who your true friends are, ask them to take a photo off their profile.

It's insane how many people choose to keep that embarrassing/ugly/unflattering/ job endangering photo up over respecting your privacy/general sense of decency)

I don't post our address, home phone number (well if we had one I wouldn't), or where we keep the spare keys.

I do not even add his name and a million hearts in my status when I'm feeling extra gooey.

(Okay, I know most of you figure that I never feel gooey anyway... so that one I don't get credit for...)

And with the exception of this one right here, my blogs never actually focus on him.

But going back to the "share my life with" I can't help but have him as a re-occurring character in most of my stories.

And in trying to respect his privacy I have not ever posted his name.

This gets increasingly difficult.

I do not like to call him "My Husband", I let other people call him that, because I get tired of correcting them and the conversation that ensues said correction, but I don't actually call him Husband.

Mostly out of respect for all the people out there who have gone through the whole wedding thing, I get it, they put in the work, they should get a little credit.

But also, I don't want to confuse him, if he starts hearing me use that term he may think I want a ring and then we have the opening scene to "The Strangers" all over again... and we all know that movie didn't end well.

But speaking of credit, I don't like to call him "My Boyfriend". We are not Seniors in high school. I live with the man, we share bills and a bed, I plan on being the mother of his kids.

The term boyfriend feels like one step up from "that guy I'm seeing" and I feel in the past few years, we've managed to take things farther than that one step.

So that's easy... I just start calling him "My Partner". And everyone starts to envision Rosie O'Donnell with some camping gear and a gun.

( On another side note, go ahead and google Rosie, it's been awhile, say 1996, since I've seen her... wow)

Why don't I just call him "The man I love and share my life and future with" well....quite frankly that's a hell of a lot to type, and I try to keep your interest in these little posts. I think if I get that politically correct I not only loose my edge, but also my audience.

So I need to stick him with a nickname. Something like "Better Half".... only I have to much pride to admit that much defeat.

"Ball and Chain" doesn't fit either, as he has never tried to tie me down, nor do I consider him a drag (unless we were at a Basketball game, then I will admit, he is a pessimist and a complete downer, but save our differing cheering styles for another time).

Asking him for help doesn't do me any good... I just did, and gave him "ball and chain" and "better half" and asked him for examples like that... he said "what's wrong with those ones?"

(In his defence this post is still a work in progress and hasn't been published yet.)

I try to recall other nicknames I had for guys I wanted to remain anonymous (some for their sake, some for mine).... Rat Teeth, Peru, Touch Feet, Hairy Guy, Your-Not-Done-Yet.....Turns out, looking back on them I'm not very good ( or nice) when it comes to nicknames.

But I guess typically, you need to describe someone, and I will describe him as strong. Physically, (as in his arms are the size of my thighs) and mentally (he does share his life with me, that takes true strength).

Not to mention emotionally, he seems to be the one holding it together while I sometimes have a nervous breakdown over folding laundry.

So While I won't concede to him being "better" per say, I will admit to him being the stronger one in our fully-committed-but-not-ceremoniously-sanctified relationship.

Therefor, from this point of my blog on, he shall be referred as my "Stronger Half"... or more likely just SH... as again, I get a little lazy typing things out.

Feel free to imagine someone putting their fingers to their lips with the universal sign for "Be Quiet" every time I mention him, as I know that is what I will picture every time I type it.

The Applied Sciences of Appliances

"His name is Connor. John Connor. Your son, Sarah, your unborn son."

We are nearly settled into our new home.

Well, we live here at least. Half of our stuff is still stored at the last house, but in general, we're here.

Remember back in the fifties, when a new house filled with brand new shiny appliances was a dream come true?

(Well no me either, I was born in the 80's, but I've heard stories of cooking with ease, after walking home barefoot from the market, up hills both ways with a dragon under the toll bridge, um or something like that)

Well dream no more, because the modern day updated kitchen, with their electronic clocks blinking 12:00, and their installation manuals rivalling the Lord of the Rings trilogy, is an invariable nightmare.

They come completely computerized. Everything is digital, you know to make things easier.

Now when I want fry an egg, instead of doing it the laborious old fashioned way (turning the dial to 4).

I get to do it electronically.

Press "on", select size of burner, select Hi- Med- or Low, then adjust down to four with a series of beep-beep-beeps. Yes that's right, I can cook an egg just as easily as a 70yr old can text "The quick fox jumped over the lazy dog"

Wow, I can't believe we went for so long doing it the old way.

Then we move on to learning the oven.

Prior to owning this appliance I knew two ways to heat things,make it soggy in a microwave, or crunchy in the oven. Now apparently I have 16 different settings in my oven.

I can control where the heat comes from like the greek god Eurus controls a hurricane. I have no idea what any of the settings do, but I have found the secret code for crispy french fries.

If I manage to hit "convection", "preheat", "start", "4-2-5", "start","time on", "1-5", "start", I can enjoy the most delicious fries (Well, I can enjoy them in between the six times I get up to try and turn the timer off, because we never seem to be able to do it right the first time).

Do I need to mention the timer on the stove??

The other day I put potatoes on and set the timer for five minutes. Fifteen minutes later they were turned off, with the timer reading 4 hours and 45 mins.

Well, has all that cooking has made you thirsty?? How about a glass of ice water from the door in the fridge.

First stick your glass under there and press a button.

When nothing happens press another, and then a third… you're pressing them blindly because as soon as the LED lights come on you can't see the writing on any of these "buttons"

(I use the term "button" very loosely, as there is no actual button. It is just an area that has some print on the surface that you are supposed to magically hit every time. )

You will eventually realize ( i.e. as someone else explains it to you) that although there are five "buttons" on our fridge, only one is useful, you must press it once for ice cubes, again for crushed and again for water.

All those other buttons you pressed actually control our fridge door alarm, fridge temperature, freezer temperature, and the stock value for oil overseas.

So every time we have guests over and we get lazy and make them get their own drinks, we end up with frozen milk, thawed chicken and an oil crises in Istanbul.

Moving on to the dishwasher… all I have to say is gawd knows.

I jam everything in, put in dissolvable tab, and hope for the best. There are 13 buttons ( I'm not actually exaggerating, I know I sometimes do, but I just got up and counted.. 13) of those buttons some of them can be pressed together, so you can make a combination of about 45 cycles…. pots and pans, turbo zone, smart, wash, heat dry, licked clean by trolls.

All I know is I turn it on and anywhere between 1 hour and 4 hours later (depending on how slap happy I got with the settings)I have clean dishes.

And lastly there is our microwave. seemingly harmless (well unless you're a bag of popcorn, then it can really do a number on you).

I understand that some appliances all have their kinks, little tricks you need to master.

Our kink was that #4 "button" was stuck. (I know, how does it get stuck when it's not a button??)

One morning it just decided it liked four minutes... no reason at all, we were in bed, asleep (as you should be at 5 am) when I heard the microwave going.

I got up and unplugged it, trying to silence my Angel watching brain that was warning me it was possessed.

Actually we had just watched "Evan Almighty" and all morning as we plugged and unplugged the stupid thing I kept having this nagging feeling that we were supposed to find chapter four in the bible and sacrifice a goat or something.

We wound up sacrificing the microwave, right back to the Walmart where it came from, and now we have a new one, which means another three weeks of re-programing ourselves just to be able to heat up some left overs.

Maybe we've watched The Terminator a few to many times in this household, but all I know is if one more appliance becomes smarter than I am in this house, I am going to go back to flint and steel.

A New Office Experience

Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I was having some trouble thinking of a blog post for this week.

Mainly because I wanted to be able to write something other than "Today I had a bad day and hurt myself"

Unfortunately when I look back on this week, the only thing I seem to have accomplished is acquiring a new bruise each day.

And I refuse to make an entire blog about how klutzy I am (although I'm fairly certain I would never run out of content if I did).

So instead I'm going to give you a little break from your regularly scheduled work day to try and imagine what it's lifework as a bander on a lobster boat for the day.


It's very easy to simulate, and then you will know exactly how I feel one week a year.

Since your not really doing any thing productive at the moment (come on, you're reading my blog.. I know you have more important things to do) you can start right now.

First, find your heat source to your office, and shut it off.

Spin in your chair till slightly nauseous.

Know that if you are going to throw up, your only choice is your own work space. Getting up to go throw up in an appropriate place, will only put you life in danger.

(Noah saved me my first year by pretty much picking me up as I was leaning over the side and putting me back in my safe little "zone" where traps would not knock me over as they flew off the boat.)

Now splash a little salt water on you face.

Repeat.

Now remove two screws from the bottom of your office chair to simulate rouge waves.

Throw some more salt water on your face.

(It's actually surprisingly refreshing the first time, plus the salt water gives you that sexy beach hair -you just can't see it under your fish gutsy toque hair.)

In fact, ask a co-worker to just randomly throw water at you during the day, no rhyme or reason.

Also ask them to attack you with a stapler if you get tired. (That is the worst part, just when you think you've got the hang of things a lobster nabs you with their little bastard claws)

Now that you're in the spirit of things, time to get to work.

Pick a random mundane tedious job, make sure it involves contorting your body in some way.

Lets say you choose to pick the staples out of paper.

Place the stapled sheets on the left side of your chair... twist towards them, pick them out, place in basket on right side of chair... repeat.

As fast as possible.

Ask that helpful co-worker to keep throwing more stapled sheets on top of your pile. (He's not really doing anything that important either.)

The proper ratio is 2 to 3 sheets in for every one sheet out, just enough to make you feel like it is all helpless and it will never stop.

Keep going for about 12 hours or so.

(See previous blog about lobstering if you feel like you need a bathroom break…)

Now at the end of your day, just when you feel like you are about to pass out from exhaustion, take all of the un-stapled papers, and start filing them away.

As fast as possible.

You can't go home until they are all filed.

File them into 100 pound boxes, then drag them around for awhile.

Once you get the hang of how things are going, turn the lights off and continue in the dark. (Be sure to get your co-worker to attack you a few more times with the stapler, as this is extremely helpful at keeping you awake.)

Now go home, and go to bed for four hours, and get back up and do it all again.

If you can keep this up for a week straight, you will receive amazing benefits, toned arms from all the lifting, sore hands an aching back and best of all a new found appreciation for your actual job.