There have been, strangely enough, tornado warnings around here. Tornadoes! Where AM I? In any case, yesterday the rain held off all day until the moment I had to leave to pick the kids up from school. I stood in the playground, in a torrential downpour, while I waited for them. The rain tapered off and the sun came out five minutes after we arrived at home. I cannot help but feel somewhat slighted by Mother Nature.
Ah, June in Calgary. The sky is pitch black and the house is completely dark in the middle of the day; this in spite of the fact that the sky is bright when I get up at 4:45, and the sky is bright long past my bedtime. The local meterologists swear that the average June temperature is 20 degrees Celcius, but to my mind of thinking, the meteorologists are either in possession of some very flawed data or they do not know how to calculate an average. There is no way the average temperature can be 20 degrees Celcius, I demand you show me your data source. These are actual thoughts that go through my head every time I see a weather forecast. It is possible I have lost my mind.
This derangement is also apparent with regards to my feelings about my neighbour across the street, who has in recent weeks set out a collection of garden gnomes beside his front door. I am tempted, every time I look out the window, to run across the street and steal one, and then take pictures of it in various locales and costumes, leaving photographs in his mailbox. I think about this all the time. It’s not a passing thought, I seriously consider what kind of clothes I could dress the gnome in, how I could take him to Menchies’ and photograph him with a fro-yo with gummy bear toppings, how I could strap him into the front seat of my minivan and take him for a ride.
What is wrong with me? I also find myself giggling uncontrollably when I think about Mad Men and the scene with poor pirate-y Ken, talking about Chevy, and the pain-in-the-assedness of clients in general. “A client once cupped my wife’s breasts,” says Jim, helpfully, immediately followed by Roger’s earnest statement, “Lee Garner Junior made me hold his balls.” WHAT. Wouldn’t you love the backstory on that one? It’s just so random. The conversation is so casual, yeah, this guy sexually harrassed my wife, oh, and this guy made me hold his balls. How does that happen? What sequence of events have to occur before a guy holds another guy’s testicles, and how does that come up in casual conversation, like it’s totally nothing?
Maybe it’s the end of school looming near that has me collapsing in near-hysterics about everything. I don’t know how else to explain it, but this article about embracing the furry au naturel look rather than waxing has me laughing until I cry. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the furry au naturel look, although for me personally I would be more likely to don a knee length, sleeved, 1910-era “bathing costume” than my regular swimwear while brazenly displaying a lack of a bikini wax. What can I say, I like my esthetician. However, this has nothing to do with – as a young man quoted in an article suggests – heightened expectations due to pornography viewing. Women of the world, take note: if a man has an expectation on how you should look in the nude based on what he’s seen in pornographic films, then probably he is not a man you should consider sleeping with. It’s all fun and games until he wants you to pretend he’s the pizza delivery guy. I mean, that might be fun and all, but if his entire outlook about the female body is based on porn, then he’s probably watching too much porn.
But why am I laughing until I cry, as I mentioned before? It’s because of this quote, and honestly, TRUTH SISTA and fist raised in the air:
“I think most guys are so delighted that they’re about to get laid they wouldn’t notice if you had a full-on Zach Galifianakis-style beard down there.”
Something about the term “full-on Zach Galifianakis-style beard” makes me think of the dog-beard trend, but with Zach Galifianakis in a Michael Douglas-esque, um, situation.
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| My best attempt at dog-bearding. Even Barkley thinks I’m lame. |
So. Many. Comments. Must take them in order. June is traditionally the month of despair in the Pac NW, really they need to make it some kind of state holiday. This June has been unusually warm, but usually it rains every friggin’ day and is in the low 60s. June = least favorite month.
I totally understand the nearly insurmountable desire to kidnap and travel with lawn gnome. I would feel the same, but my need to do this is sated by the fact that once every few weeks my daughter makes me take one of her stuffed animals to work. I take photos of same answering the phone, doing filing, working on the computer. She loves it and it always cracks me up (perhaps I’m too easily entertained….)
That entire MM scene killed me. It’s one of those that I just want to save that scene and replay it occasionally because it’s so hilarious from start to finish. I love that Roger and Jim were so matter of fact about the various degradations suffered as an account man. Both hilarious.
Finally, I don’t shave due to any pressure from husband who mainly could not care less. Shaving is 100% me. I prefer not to be hairy as all get out and do not watch p0rn. I feel one can reasonably have one without the other.
You should totally snag one of those garden gnomes. Somebody did that once, in Manitoba I think it was… a lady’s gnome went missing and then she started getting pictures in the mail of the gnome in all sorts of whimsical settings and locations.
June has just sucked out here, too. By mid-month we’d exceeded the average rainfall for Halifax and it’s been cold.
I shave because I like to. It’s sanitary and tidy. I do not wax, though. You keep the hot wax away from my lady-garden.
HANNAH SAID LADY-GARDEN. That and the Michael Douglas visual have me cramming my fists in my mouth to stop the shrieky laughter so Eve won’t ask me what I’m looking at. I think our trip to the art gallery was quite enough trauma for her for this month. This also reminds me of all the vasectomy stories at my birthday party, that my husband WON’T LET ME BLOG ABOUT GUESS WHY NO DON’T. SO unfair!
Galafenaslkdfjalsdfous snatch.
I die.
Mother Nature is about to crank up in this bitch. My friend lives in butt chuck alberta and she’s coming down here to enjoy the air pollution. Can’t wait until she develops an iron lung.
Tornado warnings, they make my heart race…and that beep this is the emergency broadcast system, “we are tracking a rotating storm”…I really don’t like that. The school is only a block away but I wanted my kids home as soon as I heard the warning.