Muse. Ramble. Rant. Repeat


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How to feel guilty for not wanting someone to find you and wear your skin as a coat

I’m just about to post some wedding photos but I’m going to password protect; not wanting complete strangers to look… except… my regular readers are strangers… kind of… I mean I read your blogs so I feel like I know you…
I don’t know. It’s complicated. I’ll basically let anyone have the password, even you lurkers who never comment, if you aren’t an ex-boyfriend or stalker you’re good to go… so just leave me a comment or DM me at @mmacc


Crazy Cat Lady Theories

We have a puppy.

A 10 week old German Shepherd named Misha.

Isn't she cute?

I wrote, not so long ago, about not being a dog person.

Its ok, everyone told me, once you have a puppy you’ll fall in love with it.

Lies.

A puppy takes work. It needs to be fed, taken outside, walked, played with, trained, loved, loved, and oh my god just love it some more because it’s not quite sure you love it enough.

So far, I enjoy aspects of having a puppy. I like walking around my neighbourhood with her. I like training her to do new things. I’m sure I’ll even eventually like the company she’ll provide. But what seems to be missing is the joy that I’m supposed to feel from having a creature to take care of. CJ is thrilled with the puppy. He’s been getting up in the middle of the night to let her pee. He cleans up her messes. He is concerned with vet visits and what the dog should and shouldn’t be doing. I mostly view the dog as an inconvenience in my day.

I’m not surprised by the amount of work a puppy takes. I was fully warned. CJ was fully warned. We both agreed to commit to taking care of the puppy so we did. I view her as a chore, something that needs to be done that I’ve committed to – like eating healthy – sure I don’t hate it but I’d rather not be doing it.

Here’s the thing about me: I don’t like taking care of other things. I don’t have that maternal instinct that makes me go all gooey when a baby is around. While I’m good at taking care of other creatures (really good actually) I don’t enjoy it. I prefer to work by myself, not on a team. While I have a natural tendency to lead (being a type A control freak) I will step away from a management role because I don’t like to deal with other people’s problems. I expect too much from small children and small animals. And I don’t receive any joy from being needed by something. I find it a nuisance.

This complete selfishness is the reason I won’t have children (maybe I’ll grow out of it but I doubt it). Unless something’s on my schedule doing what I want or leaving me alone I want nothing to do with it. (Insight into mine and CJ’s relationship – we’re adults, we do what we want, when we want to do the same things we do, when we don’t want the same things we don’t do it together).

This leads to my crazy cat theory: (OF COURSE I HAVE A CRAZY CAT THEORY!)

Children take a lot of work. Those with children have infinite amounts of time and energy to give to raising their children. They are patient and kind, receiving a true joy out of taking care of another being. (There are also those who have children because they need to be needed, or for a social obligation, or due to poor sexual education, but let’s leave that for another day, I only want to address the good parents here).

Those with only dogs, tend to be caretakers but with a lesser degree of dedication. They want something to take care of but without the commitment of 18+ years and a few hundred thousand dollars.

Those with a cat are like me. Selfish people who attempt to prove they aren’t selfish by having another creature to take care. Except with a cat you can fill up its dish and leave it for the weekend. Or get a friend to check in on it once a day and feed it. Little effort. Low maintenance. Proves you aren’t a psychopath because you take care of another animal without killing it.  A cat is also good for keeping you from being too lonely. Something to pass the time until you find a man to procreate and have multiple babies. If that’s your style. Personally I use mine to kill the mice and prove I’m not heartless.

Crazy cat ladies? What happens when you started with a cat to keep you from being lonely in your early 20s only to slip into your 30s and 40s without a husband or children? You get multiple cats to fill that void of being wanted; of needing to take care of something. It takes a minimum of five cats to equal the energy needed for one puppy. Three puppies and I think you probably have the energy needed for a baby.

My sister with three children thinking about a fourth? In another lifetime, one without children and a husband, she would have 15-20 cats.

Think about it.


Got Married.

To explain why you want to marry someone is a difficult task.

All of my girlfriends move in with their boyfriends, usually within a year of dating, economically it makes sense. Living with someone, sharing your life with them is similar to being married. I have friends who argue against the archaic decision to get married – why give up your freedom, your name, and a piece of yourself just for a piece of paper? (Equality isn’t an argument in Canada, any two consenting adults can get married, doesn’t matter what sex they are). One can’t get married to change any aspect of their relationship – that piece of paper won’t make him do the dishes more often or like your family more.

So why would two people chose to get married?

When you get married you are stating to the world you are perfectly happy with the status quo. You are willing to commit to someone for your entire life, as is. In this age of commitment phobia and being told you can always change your mind to decide on something so permanent says something about your relationship: I’m not kidding. I love him. I don’t need a way out because I believe I won’t need one.

As I stood in front of CJ, our family, our friends and recited my vows:

I take you to be my husband;
to laugh with you in joy,
to grieve with you in sorrow,
to grow with you in love,
to be faithful to you alone,
as long as we both shall live.

I was completely at ease with the lifelong commitment. I want to grow old with him and I wanted everyone to know.

Since the wedding, nothing has changed in our relationship. We’re experiencing change in our lives, but we bicker just the same, we love just the same, we have the same amount of (fantastic and frequent) sex. The jokes have changed a bit – threatening divorce for a silly offence seems to please us (“What do you mean you forgot to order the spicy sauce? I’m going to divorce you over this!” or “What? Light beer? No, I’m filing the papers for this tomorrow”) and calling each other husband and wife is taking some getting used to ( “meet my boyfri… errr… husband”) but it’s the same for us.

What’s different is how you see us. And that’s the point.

(Our wedding was beautiful, unfortunately our photographer is still editing so pictures will have to wait until a date in the near future)


Oh, Hi. Sorry, forgot you were here…

Wow.

I’ve been busy.

Never one for subtle change in the past two months I got married, got a puppy, ordered new bedroom furniture, continued to be insanely busy at my job and have kept up an active social life.

I’m tired from typing all that.

So, to celebrate my return to blogging (now that I have some free time on my hands) I present my life in the past two months, in five parts.

Enjoy.


We aren’t here to discuss the fish lovers.

There are three types of people in this world:

People who like cats.

People who like dogs.

And those poor souls who like fish. We aren’t here to discuss the fish lovers.

I have now and always will be a cat person. A cat, especially my cat, a 5 year old 20lb black and white tabby named Dante, is easy. I feed him twice a day. He enjoys a good cuddle in the morning and just before I go to bed but that is as much attention as he needs.

CJ is now and always will be a dog person. A dog, especially the 100lb creature he wishes to acquire, demands constant attention. You can’t do anything without considering the dog. You can’t fill a dog’s bowl up and leave it for the weekend. Apparently a dog loves you in ways the cat could never but I’m not sure about that.

I don’t want a dog. If I wanted to be responsible for another creature I would have a baby. And despite CJ swearing up and down it will be his dog and his responsibility I know, like with all things we do, the responsibility will be at least 50/50.

As a couple you make compromises in your relationship. Sometimes you have to give in not because you want to but because it’s the right thing to do. He so seldom asks of anything from me that when he has a simple request – even one that will change our lives forever and make us responsible for a needy creature I feel like I have to do it.

I’ve read the books. I’ve talked to dog owners. I’ve insisted on spending lots of time with dogs.  Apparently it’s going to be fine. Apparently I will fall in love with the slobbering creature and magically transform from happy cat lady into crazy dog lady. Apparently.

As soon as I relented and agreed to let a creature into our lives, CJ found a list of potential breeders. He’s been researching the best ones and what to look for in a dog. He’s happily considering various dog foods and dog vets and other dog things. I’ve never seen him so productive over … anything.

Despite a full round of heel dragging I’ve agreed to participate in the selection process. I mean I agreed to this ridiculous scenario so I’m going to go all in.

This morning I sent an email to a breeder asking about a German Sheppard puppy.

What’s that? It’s spelt shepherd eh? Hmmm, oops. My bad. Hopefully it doesn’t prevent the woman from answering my email because she thinks we’re too dumb to own a dog.

… hey, just because I agreed to something doesn’t mean I have to give up my passive aggressive measures to prevent it from happening.


Cupcakes at 6am

Today is CJ’s birthday.

Technically his birthday. I’ve deemed his birth date void and insisted we start celebrating on May 1st because I’m in a profession that will always see me working 14 hour days on April 29th. He’s ok with this idea because it means I’m not stressed out during his celebrations.

Anyways,

Today he turns 26 years old.

Six years ago this summer, when I met CJ, he was living with his parents, had just quit his job and was making allowance; $10 a week to be exact. He had to save up for two weeks so we could go to the movies for our first date. He had no immediate plans to go to school, no plans to get another job and a vague idea that at some point he was going to move out of his parent’s house.  

To tell it now, it’s hard to explain why I was so smitten with him. We were young. So young that nothing I just typed above mattered. We were too young to worry about the future or careers or prospects. We just knew we liked each other and ran with that.

Six years later it still works.

To view it from the outside it’s hard to understand how this quiet, unassuming shy guy and this loud mouth attention seeker get along. But I’ve been told that spending a few hours with us is all it takes to see how madly in love we are.

This morning we had cupcakes for breakfast because I’m not going to see him until bedtime tonight. As we laughed about eating cake at 6:30am, I realized why it was so easy, how it was that we could make it work – I like him. After all this time we still like spending time together. We work great together and bring out the best in each other.

I don’t need him in my life. He doesn’t need me. But we want to be with each other. That is what it boils down to – we are here because we want to be here. We are in love because not being together seems like a ridiculous notion.

We get married in eight weeks. I have no doubts. No cold feet. I’m just excited to start another chapter with him.

Happy Birthday CJ. Here’s to another fifty together. xoxo


How to Tell Your Boyfriend has been Drinking Too Much.

I’m home alone tonight, catching up on some quality time with Tyra Banks.

(Don’t hate, you love ANTM too)

CJ is out and I just received a text message.

CJ: Tina Fey on SNL tonight! Download it!

Me: Will do tomorrow.

CJ: Not tomorrow! I want to watch it when I get home!

Me: Can’t download it until tomorrow silly :)

CJ: Don’t be lazy woman*! Download it for me!

Me: Yah, saturday night LIVE, I’ll get right on that.

CJ: Good. We’ll watch it together when I get home.

….

I could correct him now, or I could make fun of him tomorrow morning.

Guess what I’m going to do?

~~~~~~

Edited to explain: While Canadians view network shows at the same time as our American cousins, most cable shows can usually be downloaded before their air date in Canada; we straight up can’t get some channels like AMC and FX. Seriously, I don’t understand since most of the shows we watch are shot in Vancouver. WHY CAN’T WE CANADIANS SEE THEM AT THE SAME TIME AS AMERICANS? WHY? WHY? Also, we are banned from using Hulu. It’s like America is so jealous of Canada it holds the only thing they do better than us over our head.

…. but that’s just a theory from a very proud Canadian.

*Woman is his pet name for me. I realize the potential negative connotations but I’m flattered because he got it from my late grandfather who used to affectionately call my grandmother ‘woman’.


In which I talk about sex and creme eggs.

Don’t get too excited kids. This isn’t nearly as raunchy as the title suggests.

I’m on birth control. This little magical pill makes my world a better place. I don’t have to worry about unplanned pregnancy, my skin stays relatively clear and I always know when my period is going to be.

I’ve been a fan of the pill since I was 16 years old and have spent only two months off it since then*. I’m pretty good at taking the pill on time. Even if I forget a pill every now and again my doctor has assured me that I probably wouldn’t get pregnant seeing as I have 9 years worth of fake hormones in me.**

But every once in a while I really screw up. This week happened to be that week. I had run out of my prescription so I had to make an appointment with the doctor. And then I had to fill the prescription and then it was Easter I forgot to pick it up. But I wanted to stay on schedule.

So last night I took three pills. I should have read the little info sheet which would have told me to take two last night and two today, but I didn’t, I just took three at once.

Know what you aren’t supposed to do? Like ever? Take three pills in on go. It  makes your hormones go out of whack.

Last night? I dreamt of babies (to some: a happy dream, to me: a nightmare) CJ woke me up twice for crying in my sleep.

This morning I stubbed my toe and burst into tears.
Then I got stuck in traffic and burst into tears.
Then I read a mean email and burst into tears.
Then I found out that Chi is coming for my wedding (she lives far away in a land of sun and sand) and I burst into tears.
I just burst into tears because someone ate my in case of emergency crème egg.

It took me until the crème egg to figure out my hormones may be a bit out of balance and perhaps I should question the rather out of character bursting into tears. I’m trying to not let it affect any more of my day but I just wrote three posts and scrapped them because they were about the ills of the world and people who have wronged me, starting with the first boy who ever broke my heart up to the person who ate my crème egg.

So this is what you get.

Sorry kids. I’ll do better next time.

*Those two months are recent and a topic for another day. Let’s just say that my religion is medical journals and that in my I still liked the smell of CJ after not being on birth control.

Ok, I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Here’s a link. Imagine what someone who is getting married very soon would do if they read this.

**I am not a doctor. I am not giving you medical advice. So don’t come to me if you miss a pill and get pregnant. I don’t recommend ever missing a pill. However, if you do… I hear the pull out method is not that bad.

But of course we’re all using condoms right? … yah, of course we are…  none of us in monogamous relationships are having blatant unprotected sex. Nope. Not here. Look! A penny! Its shiny! Go look at that!


I may be high maintenance but I’m still efficient

I always have claimed to be a low maintenance type of gal. On any given day I can be out of the house within 20 minutes of waking up. Even at night, getting ready to go out it usually takes me less time than my girlfriends to get ready. I’m just efficient.

As I’ve aged, I’ve noticed having to spend more time on myself than I used to. Creams are needed to keep dryness away; my hair just doesn’t fall into place after air drying; and throwing on any combination of clothing doesn’t always work, thought needs to be put into it.

Until last night, I would still claim to be fairly low maintenance for a girl of my age. Hardly taking any time to get myself ready…

…Until last night, when CJ hopped in the shower with me. He caught me mid-wash – meaning my hair was shampooed, my body soaped and my face cleansed. I still had to shave my legs, exfoliate, and deep condition. He mentioned something about making this a sexy shower – I motioned towards the shaving cream on my legs and told him after I shower. He quickly shampooed, soaped and rinsed and hopped out.

After I got out of the shower, I dried myself and went to the bedroom. CJ was already in bed and reading. He mentioned something about making bedtime sexy and I told him after I finished.

I then brushed out my hair, applied blow dry cream and blew it dry. Then I applied toner, face cream, eye cream, lip chap, deodorant, body lotion, foot lotion, hand lotion and cuticle lotion. I picked out what I was going to wear the next day and ironed it. Then I took my pills (multivitamin, birth control, allergy), my asthma puffers and crawled into bed. Ready to get sexy.

CJ was asleep.

Mildly insulted I looked at the clock – an hour had passed since he first hopped in the shower with me. I couldn’t blame him for falling asleep, he has a hard job and it would have been mighty boring waiting for me to finish. I thought of what steps I could cut out of my nightly routine… nothing came to mind.

I don’t think I can call myself low maintenance anymore.


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