Not a Halloween Post

Today is The Donor's birthday, which means that I am fucking a man WHO IS ALMOST FORTY.  Well, not right this very second; that would just be weird, but sometime before Christmas the odds are pretty stacked in my favour, which will put him EVEN CLOSER TO FORTY.

Oh, god, I am getting O.L.D.  But he will always be OLDER.

Dear The Donor,

I met you when you were what, 23?  I can't even remember, it was that long ago.  You were fresh out of college, fresh out of a relationship, and so beautiful that the memory of you then makes me ache.

I remember the first time I saw your house; how tidy it was, how it was decorated and how your closet was organized, your books were all lined up on shelves, the bed was made.  That is SO not your reality anymore.  Yeah, I'm really sorry about that.

The past 13 years with you have been the stuff they design world class roller coasters around.  For every up, there has been a down.  Every soaring high has had a crushing low.  And every single second was worth it.  I have watched you grow over the years, and taken your hand as you've tried to lift me up, too.  I have fought you every step of the way, and you have stayed right here by my side through every high and every low.  You have taught me how to forgive, and if I ever had to list my flaws, my lack of the ability to forgive would top that (ridiculously long) list.  You have shown me that sometimes in life, there are things worth fighting for, worth taking risks for, worth trying over and over again for.

You were just setting out into the world on your own two feet when I met you, and became a father before you knew what hit you, and a husband promptly after that.  We both gave up the first glimmer of a "youth" we'd ever seen to embark on a path neither of us had any clue how to walk down, and through trial and tribulation we found our way through, together.

Today, you are 36 years old.  You are more beautiful today than you've ever been, with your greying hair and your obnoxiously great legs.  You are by far the funniest man I've ever met in my 33 years, and that is certainly my favorite thing about being married to you.  Not a day goes by that I'm not shooting something out of my nose and looking at you with that look that says, "Did you REALLY just say that?"  You are grossly inappropriate, freakishly intelligent, refined in a way I'll never be, and kind to a fault.

I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams that my children would have a father like you.  The way you adore them, dote on them, and still manage to put your foot down when it's needed is a gift of character that I never received.  I'm trying to learn it from you; maybe in another 10 years it'll rub off.  You are teaching them what it means to be a father, to be a man, and having come from a world where that didn't exist, let me tell you that you are doing an amazing thing for these children.  All four of us are blessed beyond all compare that you are the cornerstone of this family.

I tell people that we never fight, and they roll their eyes at me and Uh Huh me and I just let it go at that.  But I think it's a testament to the man you are that we just don't ever fight.  I tried to count the fights we've had on my hand, and I think I got to six?  Maybe?  If I stretched?  Sure, we've had some really awful times, but you and I have always been friends.  We still are today, 13 years and 3 kids later.  I love being around you, and I hate that I barely ever am.  I also hate that you pull my blankets off me at night, but it all balances out.

You quite literally get better every year.  You seem to be more comfortable with who you are and where your life has taken you as every year passes.  The 23 year old Donor I knew was witty and sharp and angsty and deep, and the 36 year old Donor I know today is still witty and sharp, but he has peace inside him.  He is full of love and tenderness, and just enough asshole to keep him really fucking funny most all the time.  And he's seriously hot.  Which is nice.

Happy birthday, my darling.  We will be waiting up for you tomorrow night to blow out candles and sing to you (and yes, I'll totally steal all the kid's KitKat's out of their pillowcases for you) and then, once we've gotten the zombie, the butterfly and the punk rocker to bed, I'll make sure you get the other present I've got planned for you.

Speaking of which, how exactly does one USE that iron thingy, anyway?

All my love, baby, all of it forever.

I Would Totally Buy a Q*Bert Costume

I'm a little off my game this year.  Usually, as soon as the turkey's carved and the coma overcome, the Halloween decorations go up.  I go bigger for Halloween than I do even for Christmas; orange cobwebs outside, skull and jack o'lantern lights, cauldrons with candy and apples, spooky window clings, all that jazz.  I just like Halloween; it makes me giggle to see mobs of little Christians running around doing the single most pagan thing they could think of.  Next thing you know, sacrificing goats will be all the rage.  Except, wait, the goat is the devil's mascot, right?  Bum deal for Satan, man.  I mean, a goat?  Really?  The Grand Master of All Things Evil got saddled with a smelly, hair, funny looking animal who's milk tastes like creamed sour apples?  Sucks to be him.  He should have gone with a squirrel.  Those things are wicked.

So far, I haven't even busted the box of decorations out of the storage closet yet.  There are SPIDERS in there, yo.  And costumes?  Ugh.

I didn't celebrate Halloween as a kid, but I had this notion that kids just cut holes in sheets and ran around with Safeway bags in their hands collecting candies.  Either times have changed or I am a M.O.R.O.N. because I always end up caving in and dumping mega bucks on clever and licensed costumes.  Really, you should see my costume box.  You could costume the next Bill and Ted movie with its contents.

This year, my boys want to be a Jedi Knight and a Storm Trooper.  Not so bad, right?  Star Wars costumes are classic, go-to costumes, right?  They just released that Clone Wars movie, right? I should be able to find a Jedi Robe anywhere, right?

Please, take a moment to laugh at my procrastinating ass.

First of all, it's not Storm Trooper anymore.  It's Clone Trooper.  You might as well say Rotary Phone to these people.  "Excuse me, I need a Storm Trooper costume."  "Like, does that require fishnets? *smacks bubble gum*"  UGH. I headed out yesterday to get the costumes.  Four hours and five stores later, no dice.  I googled it and found a store in Vancouver that claimed to carry Star Wars costumes and didn't require either ovary as payment, so I went there today.  The very nice man with 16 extra holes in his face first told me Nope and then helped me by calling around to the Big Halloween Store in Vancouver.  Who had ONE Anakin costume and a few Clone Trooper costumes left.

Um?  Anakin is a whiny pussy.  I'm going more Obi Wan and Boba Fett.

So, I gave up and went to the Toys R Us at the Big Mall.  I took 3of3 with me because she's been passed out on the couch for 3 days and I hoped the fresh (mall) air would do her some good.  And I wore my hot bootsBecause. So I'm dragging around an almost but not quite sick toddler who hasn't seen the outside world in 3 days whilst wearing 3 inch heeled boots through a mall bigger than DisneyLand a week before Halloween at lunchtime.  I've done smarter things in my life.

We get through the parking garage, up to the main mall level, find the You Are Here signs which are shockingly unhelpful unless you understand their particular color coding scheme, which I don't, and start wading through the throngs of senior citizens, toddlers and social misfits out for a stroll at the mall.  We pass one of those merry go round things right outside of the D&D store, and 3of3 has to have a ride or her precious little head will explode, so we hop on and ride it while Mr Unregistered Pedophile Dude totally checks her out from the entrance of the D&D store.

And then we start looking for Toys R Us and get stuck behind Stroller Brigade in the hall, and everyone has ice cream and french fries but her, and suddenly her appetite resurfaces, but all she wants is blue water.  So we buy blue water and take a seat in the couchy area in the middle of the mall so I can get off my feet that are fucking KILLING me because I never wear shoes at all, let alone fuck-me boots she can drink in peace.  All around us, to the left, to the right, are sleeping seniors.  SLEEPING.  They all have their shoes off and their ankle high nylons are all propped up on the ottomans in the middle of the lounge area, and they are SLEEPING IN THE MALL.  I look around for sleeping gas taps or Vulcans, but didn't find any, so we move on.  And we pass Mr Unregistered Pedophile Dude again.  I give him a glare and we continue.

We get to ToysRUs, which is ever so conveniently located in the basement, BEHIND the haunted house, and there they are.  Star Wars costumes.  Queue angels singing and clouds parting.  I grab a STORM Trooper costume consisting of a $2 piece of dyed white fabric and a $3.50 foam "helmet" and halfway to the check-out I look at the price tag.  $49.99.  I just spent $5.99 on a Gap sweater at the thrift store and felt the slightest bit bad about it.  Needless to say, we left empty handed.

We start heading out, and we pass the world's tallest vending machines which contain $2 plastic toy puppies.  3of3 pleaded for one in her best "I so sick, momma" voice, so we stopped at the lotto counter to get change for one.  We're standing in line behind someone, and this sweet little old lady walks up to our left, just as 3of3 takes off to run back over to the vending machines.  I nod at the woman and smile, then start calling for the toddler, and I step forward one step just to make sure that darling senior knew I was still waiting my turn.  She steps one step forward, too.  I step another 1/2 step forward, and she hip-checks the dude at the counter to budge her way up.  Meanwhile, I am still calling for my kid and out of the corner of my eye I see Mr Unregistered Pedophile Dude slowly making his way through the crowd.  I panic slightly, I think for a second of leaving the line and grabbing her, but I could see her, she was 5 steps away from me, and I hadn't decided yet if Hockey Grannie and I were going to fight on the ice or not yet.  Just then, a little Asian woman comes up behind Hockey Grannie and gives me the look.  The I'm totally next, youngin' look.  Now, I guess this woman was in her 60's or so, but those little Asian women, they age like Twinkies.  She could have been 25 for all I know.  So, I sized it up.  Call offsides on Hockey Grannie, stick tackle Twinkie Lady, and get my change, or be a good person and let them get to their Keno already.

The thing is, if I asserted my place in line, Hockey Grannie and Twinkie Lady would be sharing a million dollat jackpot right now, because that's how karma works, yo.  So I let them have their stolen place in line, and I bought $6 in lottery tickets which I will totally shove in their butting faces when I win.  Yeah.

Are you fucking kidding me?  I wade through 6 stores and 6 hours of hot dog costumes, themed prostitute costumes, more Batman costumes than are allowed by law, bunnies, Doras, motherfucking Lazytown costumes, and I can't get a Jedi costume?  I have to pay more for a STORM Trooper costume than I would for a decent blow job?  Come, now.  I have to fend off pushy old woman, dodge rapists, BUY LOTTERY TICKETS and still my kids have no costumes?  AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGG.  It's not like I wanted a Q*Bert costume or anything.  I just wanted a brown robe and a white jumpsuit.

Now I'm stuck with an 8 year old who settled on dressing up as Criss Angel.  Fuck you, Halloween.

Just Another Memey Monday

Darcie asked me to do this little meme thing the other day, and I swear with god as my witness, I've done it eleventy-hundred times before, but I'll be damned if I can find it in my archives.  Of course, I started looking for it and promptly died from boredom and had to be carted off by ambulance to the nearest ER where I had to wait for 6 hours in a waiting room with some guy who had a live lemming hanging out of his right ear and then they shocked me with those electric charge paddle things and I totally saw God, and he was really in need of an eyebrow wax, and now that I'm back I just don't think I can risk trying to read my archives again.

Anyway, seven random things about me.  Feel free to go read something more interesting.  Might I recommend this?

  1. I chew on my hair.  Constantly.  I'm doing it right now.  I oftentimes wonder if I don't have a monstrous hairball in my gulliver, and what it would look like if I ever coughed it up.

  2. My pretend celebrity boyfriend is Mos Def. Because yum.  Also, yowzas.

  3. I have never seen a Freddy, Michael Myers, or Chucky movie.  I'm quite susceptible to nightmares.  Charlotte's Web gave me one.

  4. Joe Vs The Volcano and Jesus Christ Superstar and Death To Smoochy are battling for the title of My #1 Favorite Movie Of All Time.  Next time I tell you I have excellent taste in movies, you can feel free to tell me to shove it up my ass.

  5. When I stand up straight and still, I have to cross my feet.  There's no way to describe this.  Stand up with your feet side by side.  Now, take your right foot and put it on the left side of the left foot.  Like, line them up.  That's how I stand.  Yes, it's completely obnoxious, but I'll fall down if I don't.

  6. I LOVE going to the dentist.  Overly.  And flossing.  Flossing is the bomb, baby.

  7. I also love religious stuff.  Not even the cheeky, funny things.  I have a wall of crosses, I can't ever throw away a rosary, I have boxes of biblical reference material, shelves full of Templar books, an  hors d’oeuvre dish with the image of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows, and so on.  I am a religion junkie.  Which in only random insomuch that I am an fairly staunch atheist.


Mrs 4444, Mr I, Rodious, William, Mama Nuggle, MariaBird, RagingDad, and Special K; would you be so kind as to participate?