Adult Saga / dispatches from the loony bin / Life with Mr. Katje / etc.

Discouragement

It’s been a while since I’ve written. We got a new tire for my car. Or rather, we got 5 new tires for my car and one of them turned out to work. The first time Mr Katje went to the scrap yard he got a deal on 4 tires for 200 bucks off a 2000 Dodge Caravan — ie, my exact car. They didn’t fit. I don’t fucking know WHY, they just didn’t fit. They should have. SAME CAR. That night included Mr Katje lying on the ground looking at this tire he couldn’t get onto my car

Adult Saga / Wolf Pack Life

Thoughts I had while walking the dog yesterday

While driving up to the mountain: please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window at those rabbits please don’t jump out the window GOOD BOY While walking up the mountain: it’s DECEMBER WHY IS IT SO WARM Where’d he go? Oh there he is. Mountain for first dog walk since before broken leg = bad choice. Why did I decide to veil? There are zero other humans here and it feels like I wrapped my head in a basting bag. Benches. Benches would be amazing. Why don’t trails have benches? It would

dispatches from the loony bin

Probably a good thing we’re not actually living together…yet.

Boyfriend comes home from work, hungry and exhausted. Me: I ate your Nibs. Him: Fuck! Me: And your chocolate. Him: Fuck! Me: And a box of your Kraft Dinner. Him: …one of the good ones or one of the Tears and Poverty flavor? Me: Sharp Cheddar. Him: FUCK! I haven’t told him about the Chewy Dipps bars or the cans of Coke. I’m hoping he won’t notice until after I go home tonight.

dispatches from the loony bin / Musings / Tales of My Travels

The Saga of the Move: Part 3, or “Return of the Clusterfuck”

(Read Part 1 and Part 2.) The apartment in Coquitlam needed to be ready for me to move into. This meant there needed to be space for my stuff, first of all, and that my grandparents’ stuff needed to be moved out. That is, we needed to move out what we could of my grandparents’ stuff — part of the reason I had to get rid of my bed is that we couldn’t get rid of the two singles in their old bedroom (it’s like an episode of I Love Lucy every night, except instead of my husband in

dispatches from the loony bin / Musings / Tales of My Travels

The Saga of the Move: Part 2, or “The Stuff I Own Strikes Back”

(Read Part 1 here.) We now had more problems than we’d started out the day with: not only did we no longer have the use of TG’s truck to get rid of some of the big stuff, including the mattress and box spring, but now we had to work on getting the truck to Courtenay Car Centre and getting it fixed. We worked on the second problem first. Mom arranged for her and TG to wait by the truck for BCAA to tow it to the car place (this is two days later). She would then come down to

dispatches from the loony bin

Lost in Coquitlamfield with a drunk GPS

I just got back from driving my mom to the airport. She’s headed for Nicaragua for a month on a business trip. Okay, so there’s some personal time in there too. It’s a month-long trip to Nicaragua; she’d be crazy not to. I should say, mom drove to the airport, and I took her car back home. This is because time was of the essence while going there and she’s more used to Vancouver streets and so knew her way to the airport, whereas I’d be flailing and shouting “AH WHERE ARE WE” every five minutes. I just moved

dispatches from the loony bin

The Joys of a Summer Birthday

When I turned 14, we tried to organize a party for me. My birthday is August 14th, and even though school started the last week of August in Hawaii, most people were still on vacation for my actual birthday. Regardless, we kept trying, but every date fell apart. Every time mom put off the ordering of the cake, until finally in September, on the 25th, she came home with this gorgeous chocolate number with a marzipan lion on the top and said “Happy birthday.” Best. dessert and breakfast. ever. When I turned 15, my mom planned a surprise party

Musings

When did I become old?

I’m sitting at home eating dinner at a quarter to 11pm (which actually seems a reasonable time to eat dinner during summer; the sun just set) and wanting to go to the bar. Instead I’m eating salad. Salad of mixed baby greens and spinach with some bell peppers, and some of my Four Thieves’ Vinegar drizzled on top. (So, you know, not an “American Salad” that’s so covered in meat and thick dressing and croutons and cheese that it’s not really salad anymore, it’s a sandwich that tried to run away and was beaten for its transgression.) My drink