"We’re getting a new security system here, but this morning when we came in, the installers had activated it already when they shouldn’t have, so the people on my side didn’t get into our offices til after 10am.
Then I discovered that my underwear was inside out. I feel like a 5 year old. Wouldn’t have been so bad if I was wearing cotton, but I’m not."
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The No Good, Very Bad Day (by Colleen)
Billy Ivey's Open Letters to Trojan, Part 3
08-19-06
Dear Trojan…
I know you are probably sick of hearing from me, but you should get used to it. Tonight, as I was washing dishes, my bride and I were taking about…cake.
I like cake. A lot.
Anyway, for some reason, the word “cake” sounded “gross” to her. Not cake itself. Just the word. I thought I was being cute and started laughing and saying the word “cake” over and over. She told me to stop, but, c’mon, I was just saying “cake.”
She threw up, Trojan. She ran out of the kitchen and hurled.
“Cake.”
Say it with me: “cake.” Say it five times, fast.
Funny, right?
And yet another thing you’ve taken from me… just by being the evil bastards you inherently are.
*****
09-01-06
Dear Trojan… I think she’s coming out of the proverbial woods. It seems the worst part of pregnancy is over.
I’m sure there’ll be many, many pitfalls between now and the due date (and I’m sure I just jinxed the rest of my day), but she’s been in a good mood now for 27 hours, 16 minutes and 41 seconds… that’s a record, I think.
She did "vurp" yesterday whilst changing a wet diaper, but I’ve done that before, too.
I still hate you.
09-01-06
UPDATE: THE MOOD LASTED 11 MORE MINUTES. THEN I ASKED “HEY, HOW WAS YOUR DAY?” BAD MOVE.
THE PAST 19 HOURS AND 14 MINUTES HAVE BEEN NIGHTMARISH. HATE, HATE, HATE… YOU, YOU, YOU.
*****
09-14-06
Dear Trojan…
“Oh, look! What a little miracle…”
(Here, we would’ve posted a picture of a sonogram if we were that technically savvy.)
Blah, blah, blah.
YOU did this to me!
Dear Trojan…
I know you are probably sick of hearing from me, but you should get used to it. Tonight, as I was washing dishes, my bride and I were taking about…cake.
I like cake. A lot.
Anyway, for some reason, the word “cake” sounded “gross” to her. Not cake itself. Just the word. I thought I was being cute and started laughing and saying the word “cake” over and over. She told me to stop, but, c’mon, I was just saying “cake.”
She threw up, Trojan. She ran out of the kitchen and hurled.
“Cake.”
Say it with me: “cake.” Say it five times, fast.
Funny, right?
And yet another thing you’ve taken from me… just by being the evil bastards you inherently are.
*****
09-01-06
Dear Trojan… I think she’s coming out of the proverbial woods. It seems the worst part of pregnancy is over.
I’m sure there’ll be many, many pitfalls between now and the due date (and I’m sure I just jinxed the rest of my day), but she’s been in a good mood now for 27 hours, 16 minutes and 41 seconds… that’s a record, I think.
She did "vurp" yesterday whilst changing a wet diaper, but I’ve done that before, too.
I still hate you.
09-01-06
UPDATE: THE MOOD LASTED 11 MORE MINUTES. THEN I ASKED “HEY, HOW WAS YOUR DAY?” BAD MOVE.
THE PAST 19 HOURS AND 14 MINUTES HAVE BEEN NIGHTMARISH. HATE, HATE, HATE… YOU, YOU, YOU.
*****
09-14-06
Dear Trojan…
“Oh, look! What a little miracle…”
(Here, we would’ve posted a picture of a sonogram if we were that technically savvy.)
Blah, blah, blah.
YOU did this to me!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Billy Ivey's Open Letters to Trojan, Part 2
08-07-06
Dear Trojan…
She went to bed at 9:00 PM and I got to fold clothes, clean the kitchen and vacuum the living room.
I’m just sayin’.
*****
08-08-06
Dear Trojan…
I just thought you’d like to know that she threw up on the couch. She didn’t just throw up, while on the couch. She literally threw up…on the couch.
I hope you die.
*****
08-10-06
Dear Trojan…
Well, the saga continues…. I passed gas last night, and she kicked me out of the house. That’s right, she told me I could come back inside when I could “learn to not be so gross.”
You’ve even taken that from me, you sonsabitches.
*****
08-17-06
Dear Trojan…
Thanks to you, I evidently do not do anything to “help out around the house” these days. In fact, just this morning, I was yelled at through tears because the dishes I washed last night hadn’t been put away.
Yes, that’s right. The dishes THAT I WASHED were left on the counter all night long.
They were DRYING, you miserable sacks of ineffective crap!
Thanks.
Dear Trojan…
She went to bed at 9:00 PM and I got to fold clothes, clean the kitchen and vacuum the living room.
I’m just sayin’.
*****
08-08-06
Dear Trojan…
I just thought you’d like to know that she threw up on the couch. She didn’t just throw up, while on the couch. She literally threw up…on the couch.
I hope you die.
*****
08-10-06
Dear Trojan…
Well, the saga continues…. I passed gas last night, and she kicked me out of the house. That’s right, she told me I could come back inside when I could “learn to not be so gross.”
You’ve even taken that from me, you sonsabitches.
*****
08-17-06
Dear Trojan…
Thanks to you, I evidently do not do anything to “help out around the house” these days. In fact, just this morning, I was yelled at through tears because the dishes I washed last night hadn’t been put away.
Yes, that’s right. The dishes THAT I WASHED were left on the counter all night long.
They were DRYING, you miserable sacks of ineffective crap!
Thanks.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Theft and Greed and Grace and God
When you live or work with others and there's food involved, things tend to get a little sticky. Back when I lived in a college dorm, we had one fridge in a common room, and it was usually filled with delicious food - the kinds that were not served in the dining hall. I envied the girls who had a carton of milk in the fridge, as breakfast was the only time we were served milk in the dining hall (until my third year), and I never got up in time for breakfast because I valued my sleep more than a 7am breakfast (except my second year, when I lived in a 4 bedroom house with 19 other girls where the logistics of bathroom use demanded I get up at 6am in order to shower - I did go to breakfast on these days). I was also jealous of the girls with homemade food in the fridge, and those with yummy snacks like pizza pops.
In my third year I was out of the ever-expanding House of 20 Girls (where no man should dare to tread, and not just because it was against the school rules) and back in the dorm, where I probably had less square feet to occupy, but it seemed like more space because there were not bunkbeds everywhere you walked, and the classrooms were now only a few feet away, instead of 200 miles through deep snow or on planks across a 50 ft deep boggy marsh in the spring.
Now in the dorm once more, I became aware of a Food Thief. It came up in a few dorm meetings that someone was stealing other people's food from the fridge in the girls' lounge (our only common room besides the laundry room), and one day something of mine was stolen too. I must have been momentarily rich because I had bought a box of pizza pops and would microwave one for dinner whenever I was too busy with homework to eat a real(?) supper in the dining hall. But one fateful day when I went to the fridge to retrieve my last pizza pop, I found the box empty in the freezer, and boy, was I was pissed. My name was clearly written on the box - a must when you share a fridge with a million other girls - so that no one would mistakenly eat them thinking they were their own, but how do you take someone's last pizza pop and think it's okay? And LEAVE the box as evidence! Like I said, I was pissed.
These things still happen, though it's now 5 years later. I still live and work with others, and we share fridges. I have two roommates and a big fridge at home, where I spend half my time and 30 workmates and a small fridge at work, where I am the other half of the time. And the thefts still occur.
If I was going to steal someone else's food - though I don't think I would, but if I did - I'd try to cover my tracks, make it hard to detect. ("Hmmmm... did I have 8 or 9 cookies left? I'm not sure. I probably only had 8.") I wouldn't take someone's last pizza pop and leave an empty box, and I wouldn't open a sealed package, which is a terribly obvious move. But recently someone opened my sealed coffee cream and I knew who it was: the one who mooches.
I was angry, but calmed down and was kind to the person. I nicely told her that I would have happily shared with her if she had asked, and that I had been surprised to find it open when I looked in the fridge. I got my point across without being mean or sarcastic. And she was sorry.
Yet I didn't feel better. And I don't feel better. I can't help but think of the Bishop in Les Miserables, who, when he finds Jean Valjean stealing his silverware, gives him his candlesticks too. He could have had Valjean arrested, but he doesn't believe it will change his heart.
Likewise, Jesus said, ""If anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, let him have your coat also. Whoever forces you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you."
Where do grace and justice intersect? I think I was just by confronting the thief, but it probably wasn't the best course of action; I could have offered her my coffee cream - I even knew she wanted some, but I didn't want to share. It was mine, I had paid for it and wanted it to last; this is responsible adult behaviour. But grace sets aside responsible adult behaviour and is generous to the undeserving.
Part of me wants to end with a trite little saying to show how wise this experience has made me. But it hasn't - I'm still greedy most of the time. But I do know I'll share a fridge for a long time to come and it's no longer appropriate to label my food. Christ says it is appropriate to share.
In my third year I was out of the ever-expanding House of 20 Girls (where no man should dare to tread, and not just because it was against the school rules) and back in the dorm, where I probably had less square feet to occupy, but it seemed like more space because there were not bunkbeds everywhere you walked, and the classrooms were now only a few feet away, instead of 200 miles through deep snow or on planks across a 50 ft deep boggy marsh in the spring.
Now in the dorm once more, I became aware of a Food Thief. It came up in a few dorm meetings that someone was stealing other people's food from the fridge in the girls' lounge (our only common room besides the laundry room), and one day something of mine was stolen too. I must have been momentarily rich because I had bought a box of pizza pops and would microwave one for dinner whenever I was too busy with homework to eat a real(?) supper in the dining hall. But one fateful day when I went to the fridge to retrieve my last pizza pop, I found the box empty in the freezer, and boy, was I was pissed. My name was clearly written on the box - a must when you share a fridge with a million other girls - so that no one would mistakenly eat them thinking they were their own, but how do you take someone's last pizza pop and think it's okay? And LEAVE the box as evidence! Like I said, I was pissed.
These things still happen, though it's now 5 years later. I still live and work with others, and we share fridges. I have two roommates and a big fridge at home, where I spend half my time and 30 workmates and a small fridge at work, where I am the other half of the time. And the thefts still occur.
If I was going to steal someone else's food - though I don't think I would, but if I did - I'd try to cover my tracks, make it hard to detect. ("Hmmmm... did I have 8 or 9 cookies left? I'm not sure. I probably only had 8.") I wouldn't take someone's last pizza pop and leave an empty box, and I wouldn't open a sealed package, which is a terribly obvious move. But recently someone opened my sealed coffee cream and I knew who it was: the one who mooches.
I was angry, but calmed down and was kind to the person. I nicely told her that I would have happily shared with her if she had asked, and that I had been surprised to find it open when I looked in the fridge. I got my point across without being mean or sarcastic. And she was sorry.
Yet I didn't feel better. And I don't feel better. I can't help but think of the Bishop in Les Miserables, who, when he finds Jean Valjean stealing his silverware, gives him his candlesticks too. He could have had Valjean arrested, but he doesn't believe it will change his heart.
Likewise, Jesus said, ""If anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, let him have your coat also. Whoever forces you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you."
Where do grace and justice intersect? I think I was just by confronting the thief, but it probably wasn't the best course of action; I could have offered her my coffee cream - I even knew she wanted some, but I didn't want to share. It was mine, I had paid for it and wanted it to last; this is responsible adult behaviour. But grace sets aside responsible adult behaviour and is generous to the undeserving.
Part of me wants to end with a trite little saying to show how wise this experience has made me. But it hasn't - I'm still greedy most of the time. But I do know I'll share a fridge for a long time to come and it's no longer appropriate to label my food. Christ says it is appropriate to share.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Billy Ivey's Open Letters to Trojan, Part 1
I discovered these gems a while ago on the Burnside Writers Collective. Billy's wife is pregnant with their fourth child (unplanned). Billy blames Trojan.
"Edwina’s insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase."
-Raising Arizona
Lucky sumbitch.
*****
07-25-06
There's no easy way to say this out loud, so I thought I'd write it down and then accept your commiseration throughout the days/weeks/months ahead.
I will need your support, prayers, understanding, and beer now more than ever before. Here goes:
My wife is pregnant. She is due some time around Valentine's Day. And don't say "Awwwww," because we do not consider that cute, romantic, "fun," or "how appropriate."
Yes, this will be child number four. No, we were not trying to get pregnant. And, yes, we know what causes this sort of thing.
In fact, if anyone asks me the question, "Don't you guys know what causes that sort of thing?" I might stab you with a pencil. We've been asked that question as a reaction to our previous three "announcements" innumerable times, and it is quite frankly getting a little old.
Anna Beth, Benjamin and Merrie Cannon are all wonderful kids. They are beautiful, smart, individual and perfect in their own little ways. So, it's difficult to not be a little bit excited about bringing a new Ivey into the world; we just weren't counting on it any time soon (at all, really).
Let's just say that TROJAN is gonna get a nasty little note from Yours Truly throughout the next 18+ years.
*****
07-26-06
Dear Trojan… Thanks for nothing, a-holes.
99.9% my hairy, white arse.
*****
07-29-06
Dear Trojan… My wife threw up in the kitchen sink last night.
Our disposal is broken, you bastards.
Thanks a lot.
"Edwina’s insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase."
-Raising Arizona
Lucky sumbitch.
*****
07-25-06
There's no easy way to say this out loud, so I thought I'd write it down and then accept your commiseration throughout the days/weeks/months ahead.
I will need your support, prayers, understanding, and beer now more than ever before. Here goes:
My wife is pregnant. She is due some time around Valentine's Day. And don't say "Awwwww," because we do not consider that cute, romantic, "fun," or "how appropriate."
Yes, this will be child number four. No, we were not trying to get pregnant. And, yes, we know what causes this sort of thing.
In fact, if anyone asks me the question, "Don't you guys know what causes that sort of thing?" I might stab you with a pencil. We've been asked that question as a reaction to our previous three "announcements" innumerable times, and it is quite frankly getting a little old.
Anna Beth, Benjamin and Merrie Cannon are all wonderful kids. They are beautiful, smart, individual and perfect in their own little ways. So, it's difficult to not be a little bit excited about bringing a new Ivey into the world; we just weren't counting on it any time soon (at all, really).
Let's just say that TROJAN is gonna get a nasty little note from Yours Truly throughout the next 18+ years.
*****
07-26-06
Dear Trojan… Thanks for nothing, a-holes.
99.9% my hairy, white arse.
*****
07-29-06
Dear Trojan… My wife threw up in the kitchen sink last night.
Our disposal is broken, you bastards.
Thanks a lot.
Friday, March 16, 2007
When a Bad Day is a Good Thing... (?)
His setting: a downtown Winnipeg bus stop at 11:30 pm.
My setting: hemming curtains on my living room floor.
The following is a text message conversation.
Later....
My setting: hemming curtains on my living room floor.
The following is a text message conversation.
R: Guess what? A guy just pulled a knife on me.
Me: What?!
R: Yeah. He wanted my backpack and wallet.
Me: What did u do?
R: I told him 2 screw off & pushed him out of my way.
R: He wasn't that aggressive. He was wasted.
R: He's lying on the ground where I pushed him, whimpering.
R: Now he's taking a piss.
Later....
Me: Maybe it was kind of good you'd had a bad day...
R: He's lucky I didn't grab his knife and stab him with it.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Some Lesser Known Tidbits (Revised)
7. There are two sides to my bath towels, which may be obvious, but not for the reason you're thinking. The side with the tag is the Face Side while the other is the Ass Side. As an environmentally conscious person, I use my towel for a few days in a row before washing it, and to eliminate drying my face with the side I've previously dried my ass on, I've coined the names. It makes perfect sense.
And woe to anyone who uses my towel.
And woe to anyone who uses my towel.
On the Ryan Smyth Trade
Me: How can he be any happier now? What can he buy with X million that he can't buy with 5.5 million? Really, what does he have his sights set on?
Lisa: You know what he hasn't bought: Teeth.
Lisa: You know what he hasn't bought: Teeth.
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