crap no. 52

Ah, the dog days of summer. A time for spiralling and regret thanks to the massive list of goals I write every May which is completely unrealistic and definitely unachievable. I know what you’re thinking: why do that to yourself, movita? And I’m gunna have to say: what else was I supposed to write in that bullet journal I thought was a good idea?

2.0 came home from work the other day, threw his hands onto his hips and said, “Whelp, they tricked me again. They told me the meeting was going to be at a water treatment plant but it was actually a SEWAGE treatment plant.” I made the mistake of under-reacting and then had spend 20 minutes apologizing for not understanding his pain.

Because 2.0 works outside I need to lecture him about applying sunscreen before he leaves the house. Watching 2.0 apply sunscreen is like watching a dog trying to figure out the Riemann hypothesis. He kinda smears it on with two fingers and then roughly glazes sections of his body. It’s a real gong show.

A couple of weeks ago I opened the medicine cabinet after he left for work and noticed that my bottle of self-tanner had been moved from its regular spot on the shelf while the sunscreen was still in its designated corner. Did I spend the whole day wondering if his face was streaked with faux copper tan-lines? Worried that his epidermis was an uneven patchwork of bronzed blobs and smudges? That he had zero SPFs to protect him? Yes. Yes, I did.

He was fine, by the way. I guess our celestial dictator was looking out for him that day.

Recently a woman emailed to ask if she could buy just one of the recipes in my dessert ebook. I was very confused because you can get the entire book — 12 recipes — for $1.99 CDN, but no, she wanted only one. In this scenario, I’d have to create a custom one-recipe book, upload that book to my site, and then format a store listing for it. I pay about $0.40 in service fees to process a $1.99 payment, so that’s about 20% of the sale. So let’s see… there are a dozen recipes in the book, making each of the recipes worth $0.17, less 20% for service fees, convert to US dollars — SWEET BABY JESUS JUST BUY THE WHOLE DAMN BOOK.

I swear to god sometimes I just want to pull this whole site down. YOU HEAR ME INTERNET DOPES? You are murdering me to death.

Sorry for crying so loud.

Last week we drove to Summerville and ate our body weight in fried seafood. I think it’s 2.0’s way of making me feel more excited about moving to a place where betting on who was driving that truck up Highway 3 is some of the best entertainment going. He’s not wrong. Food will almost always guarantee my loyalty.

When we got home from our day by the ocean we discovered there was an internet outage in our neighbourhood. We’re talking no information highway, no tv, no Netflix. After an hour of keeping ourselves otherwise occupied, we went for a walk to kill some time. An hour after that we decided to kill each other. What the hell were we supposed to do? READ?

When I was a kid my mother took the art of school lunches very seriously. Beaucoup children were equipped with Pak N Carry Tupperware kits filled with all sorts of things that had been lovingly prepared to sustain and nourish us. Would we have preferred a brown-bagged lunch like all the other kids had? Yes, but kids are idiots.

Peanut butter and honey sandwiches were frequently included in our lunch kits. I’m not gunna mince my words here: peanut butter and honey sandwiches suck donkey balls. I had to choke so many down as a child that lately I think I might be suffering from some sort of post-traumatic lunching disorder. It’s so bad that when I smell honey I get triggered and my stomach initiates its Missile Launch Sequence:

Start automatic gag sequencer (T-30 seconds)
Crew members close and lock their visors (T-25 seconds)
Ground launch sequencer go for auto hoark (T-20 seconds)
Deactivate sound suppression system (T-15 seconds)
Activate main thrusters (T-10 seconds)
Main event start (T-6 seconds)

What’s my point? I don’t have one. That’s the running theme of my blog. I’m just here to speak my truth and, like, honour myself, you know?

Not so recently my sister told me that she had taken to watching videos of colourblind people seeing colours for the first time and was finding them to be very emotional. The entire time she was talking about crying all I could think was: WHAT THE FEEZY?! I felt like I couldn’t trust her opinion on anything anymore and started looking into whether I could legally throw her out of the family or not. But then she sent me this very important article and I immediately forgave her for everything including stealing my hairbrush when we were in middle school.

Haddy also sent me this Twitter thread which is arguably the best story I’ve read in 2019. So now I’ll stop telling people about how she stole my hairbrush in middle school.

A man standing in line behind me at the grocery store started laughing hysterically and when I turned to smile at him/ensure he wasn’t a psychopath he held out an Asian pear and started pointing repeatedly at the produce sticker on it. I guess some things get lost in translation because the sticker read: ASIAN REARS. Which has a very different albeit delightful meaning.

If 2.0 hasn’t met you at least a dozen times he will call you That Other One. Your name makes no difference to him and he feels no pressure to commit it to memory. This is confusing because sometimes we’ll be talking and he’ll say something like, “You know, That Other One. That woman you know. With the yellow hair.” And I’ll say, “Heather? Janet? Mic? Diana? Andrea?” And unfailingly he’s talking about someone else and that someone else has brown hair.