If I Wasn't A Celebrity

You know who I would like to be? The sister of a celebrity. Like, for example, I could handle being Julie Pitt, who is none other than Brad’s younger sis (although being an auntie to Jolie’s spawn might be a bit frightening). But nevertheless, Julie gets many of the benefits that comes with rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous (i.e. trips to fabulous places, spas and restaurants, photo opps on red carpets, doing yoga with Jenn and kick-ass Xmas prezzies) but without any of the hassle of having to deal with the paparazzi or Lindsay Lohan. In fact, there was a time that I thought Jebus (my middle brother) would become famous. But since he’s practically 100 and still as aimless as I am, my hopes have since departed.

Thus, since it is unlikely that I will ever have a famous sibling, and even more so that I myself will ever become world-renowned (even in this day and age where one can become famous for doing absolutely nothing; although, to be fair, Paris did work awfully hard in that porn video), I guess I must be content with the my few instances where I crossed paths with a celebrity.

So which celebrities have I seen?

Well, the list is scarce and the ones on it are rather pathetic. But just like every one else in that Le Chateau on Robson Street, I was still pretty excited to see Jerry O’Connell in the flesh which just goes to show you that it doesn’t matter how lame or D-List the celebrity is, seeing someone who is even just a touch bit well-known is always intoxicating.

So to begin with, my first brush with fame took place at the tender age of five when I went and watched Buckshot perform on CFCN television station. It was a children’s show and he said hi to me and I just about died from the glamour of it all. But looking back now I realize that I was more excited about the prospect of being on TV, than actually seeing the old freak show in a cowboy hat.

Then I became famous myself when I moved to Crannie, this time by virtue of being up close and personal with Ronald McDonald. Such a great guy with fantastic hair (and have you seen his taste in shoes?) but totally not as tall as you’d think in real life.

The next time I met another bona fide celebrity was when Pint Size Jesus Freak and I accompanied my parents to Mexico and then got to spend an extra few days in Los Angeles where we ended up staying at the same hotel as the Vancouver Canucks who were in town to play the Kings. At the time, I had no idea who most of the team members were that I was getting autographs from, but I remember PSJF practically throwing herself into Pavel Bure’s arms and him acting as if posing for a photograph with two 13 year old girls was the equivalent to getting eaten alive by giant spiders.

And then an enormous amount of time passed before I had my next brush with fame. But thanks be to the heavens, the day I had dreamed about since I had first heard “The Power of Love” explode from my stereo at last arrived. In early September of my 3rd year at McGill, I somehow found out that Celine Dion would be receiving a star on Quebec’s Hall Fame outside of the Forum downtown Montreal (and by “somehow” I clearly mean that I received an email from the fan club of which I was a member). Dragging a reluctant Miss Tamara Lee with me, we camped outside just behind the members of the press to catch a glimpse of my most favourite chanteuse in the world! While we waited, the two of us even got interviewed, probably because reporters could hardly believe two such hot blondes could also be such pathetic losers.

SIDE NOTE:

This was Tamara Lee as we stood there waiting for Celine Dion: “God, I can’t believe I’m here. Why did I let you drag me here? I don’t even like her. This is so lame. I’m so embarrassed. Oh, God, why are we here. You’re a freak. You realize that, right? Stupid Celine Dion.”

This was Tamara Lee when a reporter shoved a microphone and video camera into her face: “OH MY GOD, I LOOOOOVE CELINE DION! She is my hero. A day does not go by that I don’t listen to and get inspired by her music. If I could do two things in my lifetime it would be to (a) cure cancer and secure world peace, and (b) meet Celine Dion. Oops, that’s three! My bad! But seriously, I wish her and I were sisters.”

Anyhow, forget that the ceremony was in French, or that we could only manage to catch small glimpse of her and Rene through the arms and legs of the boisterous French photographers, it was still a celebrity sighting, with my hero no less. Furthermore, the highlight of the event was afterwards when somehow it came to light that I had all of Celine’s CD’s, including her French albums. The reporters couldn’t pass up the opportunity to interview such a zealous fan and so I got to be on the radio, which wasn’t as cool as I had imagined (have you heard my voice? Now imagine that squawking coming through your car stereo), except that they played my excerpt on CBC all across Canada, including in Calgary where my second cousin Janice heard me proclaim my love for all things Celine and has continued to mention it at every single family Christmas party since.

Whew. So except for a few D-List Montreal celebrities, I didn’t see anyone else famous until Charkins and I were traveling across Europe. My Mom and Grams joined us for the last leg of the trip (excuse me as both Charkins and I take a moment to shudder at the collective memory of those two weeks), during which we spent a few days in Salzburg, Austria, a quaint town that is both Mozart’s birthplace and home to a kickin’ H&M which we sadly never got to visit (Good Lord, don’t even get Charkins started. She is prone to cry when she thinks about this atrocity. In fact, to get over the disappointment in not being able to visit the department store, we splurged on hot dogs and entertained ourselves by standing on the edge of our bed and free-falling back into the 7 trillion pillows and duvets that the hotel had provided for us).

Whew. What the hell was I talking about? Oh, right. Europe. So one day in Salzburg, the four of us were walking by a church and all of these paparazzi/photographers had gathered around outside and it was all decorated for what looked like to be an expensive wedding. Turn’s out, the son of the famous clothing designer Escada was getting married and it was a big deal in Austrian society. We stuck around to see the bride's dress and ended up seeing Elizabeth Hurley as well. And since I was right at the front of the pack, I even got to hear her voice and she looked right into my camera for the perfect pic. And yes, she is that gorgeous. And yes, her voice is that sexy. And yes, if I didn’t respect Adders and all of mankind so much, she would definitely be on my To-Do list except for the fact that she seems like a complete and utter bitch.

So after Europe came my career as a celebrity journalist to the stars of Crannie, which meant that I met absolutely no one of any worth. Oh, except that I did interview The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (impressive, I know) and that one time my father introduced me to the premier of British Columbia as his wife ("Hi there! We're from Bountiful! This here is my daughter/wife. We like to economize"). By that time, I was also sleeping with a famous person, namely a certain Mr. Magro who was often featured in the pages of the respected Advertiser (c'mon now, it's not every girl who can say that she has regular sex with a man who's name and face was in print as much as his was).

Which now brings me to my latest celebrity sighting. For my current job, I was recently taken to Los Angeles for no other reason than to simply go to Los Angeles (you think I’m kidding, but I’m seriously not, ya’ll). While there I managed to cozy on up to not one, but TWO stars. Both of them suck, both of them are ugly, but both of them have more money than I can ever hope to acquire so that’s good enough for me.

Both sightings took place on Rodeo Drive. First, we saw Jon Lovitz who was so orange from tanning that it made my eyes blurry. Secondly, I saw world-renowned drug addict/singer A.J. from the Charissa-acclaimed Backstreet Boys at the Guess store, and with him I even exchanged words. I asked, “Is that dressing room free?” And he smiled and replied, “Yes, it is. Go for it.” Which clearly was a grotesque proposition that I quickly shut down by slamming said dressing room door in his face.

So there you have it. Those are the weak and few instances where I mingled with the rich and famous. I’m still waiting to catch a glimpse of Brad or even George. But I guess for now boy band members will have to do. Oh right, and that Mr. Magro.

Just Call Me Judas

Ok, so from the sounds of it, Charkins wants me to entertain ya'll with some stories recounting certain events of hilarity. And boy, do I have some good tales to share. And I want to - I want to divulge what exactly went down when I experienced my first ever marriage proposal from the Kwok-Man. And I have plenty of Europe stories to relate, like for example the tale of when I went absolutely ape-shit-fucking-crazy on Charkins for losing a most precious bottle of hand sanitizer in Madrid. Or when we took a picture of Pierce Brosnan in the streets of Cannes and then went running for our lives.

But to tell those stories, I would have to be in a good mood. And people, the me who is writing this isn't even close to being in a good mood. As I asked Charkins earlier today, just how much uterine lining does a girl need to shed? And yes, uterus, I understand that you're upset but for fuck's sake, please stop with the goddamn cramps!

Which makes me wonder, what's all this business about PMS? The only PMS symptoms I experience are (a) cry, cry, cry (but to be fair, this might just be a now permanent fixture in my personality); and (b) GIVE ME SOME CHOCOLATE BEFORE I KILL YOU. GRRRRRR. Grrrrrrr. Grr.

But PMS has friggin' NOTHING on actually having one's period. Especially the period I'm currently experiencing. Because this one? Well, this month's rag is nothing short of "The Worst Period I've Ever Experienced Except For That One Where I Had That Incident With The Tampon When I Was 11, Wherein I Realized That You're Not Supposed To Keep The Plastic Applicator Up Your Vagina." But that was 13 years ago, and that horrifying experience had nothing to do with heavy flow and bad cramps and EVERYTHING to do with my mom grabbing a trophy and using it to measure the size of a man's penis.

Riiiight. So how did we get on this topic? Oh, I remember - I was trying to explain why I am in no mood to write a funny, heart-warming tale about some fucking freak show Asian who made me waver in my belief in God when he told me that the Almighty had decreed that I was to be his wife.

No, instead, I am in the mood to philosophize. I am in one of those scary, depressed, melancholy moods where I analyze everything to death and Charkins and Adders start running for the hills they are so scared for their lives. I am in one of those moods where I think that the only thing that might get me through another day would be if somebody made ME a homemade apple caramel pie from scratch. But alas, no one loves ME enough to do that. They only love other people. Poor, poor Courty. Siiiiigh. POOR, POOR COURTY.

So where has my depressed, melancholy, analytical mood gotten me today? Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking on something that I have been mentioning with some frequency on this blog. And that is how I wish I was settled down and had a house of my own.

But this got me thinking about something else, something much bigger. And yes, I am about to pose a question to you à la Carrie Bradshaw. The question is, am I a traitor to my sex?

You see, when I was in high school, I was voted Most Likely To Be The Next Bill Gates. And while yearbook statements such as these usually have no bearing on what one's future might hold, it still proves that at one point in my life I really wanted to be a somebody.

In Grade 11 I made the decision that I was going to be a lawyer. I'm not really sure why I settled on this particular career path. I think it had something to do with the fact that all the female lawyers I saw on TV got to bed Dylan McDermott and I was all, "Sounds fucking good to me!" Plus, even at that tender of an age I was passionate for politics and I thought that law was a good background for when I took over the universe in my role as Prime Minister (or at the very least, Prime Minister's Wife).

And then I went to McGill and two things happened.

1) Reality struck when I realized that four years of school was quite enough, really. And that I wasn't the most intelligent person in the world. And after touring the faculty of law and attending two lectures, I realized that I might not have what it takes to even BE a lawyer.

2) I worked at a law firm in the summers during university and OH MY GOD THE BOREDOM. Law isn't Dylan McDermott, it's not cute outfits while defending murderers, it's not even naked babies dancing. It's really just meeting with loser people and having to take a lot of notes and being bored out of your mind for 99% of your day (and the 1% you're not bored is because you're at lunch).

So I dropped the idea of having a career in law. But somehow I also dropped the idea of having a career at all. Yeah, sure - I make noises that I want to be a writer or do something vaguely important in publishing. And for a period of time there I thought I wanted to be a professor of theology (which Regent quickly cured me of). But now it's like I don't want to do ANYTHING.

Except that's not true. Because I do want to do something, and it's this: I want to be a wife and mother.

It's all I can think about right now: building a house, getting married, choosing linens, getting pregnant. It's ridiculous. And I wonder what's happened to me. And part of me is mad at myself for becoming one of "those girls" so easily but another part of me just doesn't care because this is what I'm CRAVING to do.

A certain traitorous doctor once told me that it's important for a man to marry young because once that's out of the way, he can then focus on his career. I thought about that, and wondered if the same could be true for women. But I don't think it is. (I'm not even sure if it's true for men). I'm certainly not going to be so naive as to think that if I get married and have kids I can still accomplish all of those dreams I had when I was single. Being married definitely limits your options, in terms of where you live, how you spend your time (and your money) and even what interests you are free to pursue.

So if I have any lingering ambitions, the solution is not to just get married and then try to pursue them. Because that won't work. Case closed.

So what I have to determine now is whether I have any lingering ambitions. And the answer is, I DON'T KNOW! I mean, of course, I still want to be a somebody. But I don't know how. Or even, in what. At this point I don't even have enough energy to go and publicize this blog on other parts of the internet, much less make a name for myself in the real world.

I remember being in Mexico with my brother last year and we were commiserating over the fact that my parents raised us kids like we were members of an impoverished aristocracy - we think we're better than everyone else and that we're entitled to the best things life can offer and yet we have no means or money or even ambition to actually go get ourselves the lives we want.

But the thing is, at this point, all I really do want is to get married (the baby thing, I'm willing to put on hold for a few more years). That seems to be my only ambition at this point. And I don't know if it's even the companionship of marriage I'm yearning for (although that is what we all ultimately get married for), but instead the opportunity to finally make a reality of all those fantasies I played out as a child. I mean, as a kid, I was OBSESSED with house. Nowadays I refuse to pick up an iron unless it's to straighten my hair. But when I was little girl I was perfectly content to sit and play with my Fisher-Price ironing set for hours. I've been wanting to play domestic my ENTIRE LIFE.

So what am I really trying to say? I don't know. That's the problem. I don't know what I'm saying, I don't know what I want, I just don't know. I know that I really want to get married, that I really want to settle down, and in many ways, that I really do want my options narrowed. But I'm scared that I'll be letting myself down, and not just me but also the 16 year old girl in me who once thought that I would be on the cover of Time Magazine.

For a long time feminists have been telling us women that we can have it all. But I'm not so sure. Maybe we can. Maybe we can't.

All I know is that I'm without a vision. I can't see the trees through the forest in terms of what I'm supposed to do with my life career-wise. But I sure as hell can feel my ovaries screaming right now, and they're constantly telling me to hurry the fuck up, my wedding registry is waiting for me.

P.S. I know you guys know me better than to take everything I say at face value. But I want to clarify that I know that marriage is more about a relationship between two people and less about choosing china.

P.P.S. Don't be scared, Adders. I love you. And that's one of the very few things I do know.

I Want This, I Want That

Everyone wants things. We all do, and that's because we're all greedy, selfish, self-absorbed human beings. But no one is a greedier, more selfish, self-absorbed human being than me. Because I want things on a major level. And I don't just want material things, I want transcendental and emotional things as well. I want just about everything that I can't have at this point in my life.

And since I'm bored here at "We can't think of any work to give you, so here, rewrite this 5,000 page dictionary", I thought I'd create another list, this one of things I want. We'll number it, but I'm not going to try and reach any specific number. I'm just going to keep listing to whatever number God strikes me dead at for being so greedy, selfish and self-absorbed:

1. I want ya'll to comment on my blog, goddammit. Charkins is excused from this because she DOES comment, unlike two other people, namely Miss "I sort of only skimmed it because it was so long" and Mr "It was sweet but I'm too busy working on my dirt bike that NEVER EVER works." GRRRRRRRRR. Don't make me start bad-mouthing you two, because don't forget - I have my own website. Mwaaaa haaaa haaaaa!!!!

2. I want my own kitchen. Actually, I want my own house. No, seriously, I want my OWN place. And Tamara Lee this is nothing against you because being roommates with you is wonderful. But frig, I'm 24 and I don't own a gosh darn thing of my own (except for my bookcase from Walmart and my KitchenAid mixer). And I want to. I want to decorate! I want to buy dishes! I want to know where everything is in my kitchen because I put it there! I want to nest and then I want to nest some more.

3. I want to have the skin I'm supposed to have at 24 instead of the skin that I had at 13 and then again at 14, and then at 15 and now all the way into my mid-20s and I just can't take it anymore! Damn you, complexion! Would you just start cooperating already?

4. I want someone to give me an unlimited credit card that never requires to be paid off and then set me loose in Sephora. Because I don't just want a few things from there. Oh, no. I want the ENTIRE store, including the Too-Faced Purrrfect Glitter Dust and Urban Decay Heavy Metal Glitter Liner and Benefit Galactic Shield.

5. I want to know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. Anyone? Anyone have an answer? I'm so sick of having so many unanswered questions. And I'm so sick of just being here because "here" is in purgatory where I don't seem to be moving in any sort of direction. I hate being stagnant. Being stagnant makes me bored. Boredom makes me depressed. My depression makes Adders want to poke out his eyeballs.

6. I want to go somewhere hot for a vacation. And bring my boyfriend. And tell my parents to suck on it. Do you hear that, Adders? Let's go to Vegas, baby!

7. I want to get drunk tonight without having to either pay for it (monetary, calories, or otherwise) or experience a hangover tomorrow.

8. I want my mom to say she's sorry and that she didn't mean any of it.

9. I want my heart to forgive her.

10. Even more so, I want Adders' heart to do so as well.

11. I want to spend a Saturday morning with Charkins wherein we sit around in our pajamas and watch old movies with Vivien Leigh in them and I whine until she gives me a foot rub. And then we read the channel with all the headlines because I'm tired of channel surfing. And we eat bacon because life just ain't life without some bacon. Mmmmmmm bacon.

12. I want to sleep with my boyfriend (and no, I don't mean in a sexual way, my God, get your head out of the gutter, this isn't that kind of website and while it might have been so last post, I'm changing because I've received too many comments that all I do is write about "sex, sex, sex" so no more talk about Adders and my amazing sex life, which is so amazing you should all be deathly jealous, because obviously it was just wasted on you people so there. HUMPH!) for as many nights as it takes until I'm at the point where I'm thinking "Lord, if I have to share a bed with this nut case one more time, I will go ape on him because MY GOD! A person can only handle so many looks at the clock in one flippin' night."

13. Can someone please buy me a Nissan Murano? Please? In black. Or possibly white. But preferably black. And I'd like rims. So would my boyfriend. That would make us happy. And as everyone knows, a happy Courts is a happy Adders is a happy world!

14. I wish my brother and sister-in-law would acknowledge that I FUCKING EXIST and maybe, oh I don't know, invite me over? Because you know, and this is shocking, I do like eating dinner! And no, I haven't seen their place yet! And wow, isn't it nice to know that when you first move to a new city where you don't know anyone except your sibling, you can always count on him to take you out and show you a good time? Wouldn't that be fucking splendiferous?

15. I would really, really, really like to spend the summer with Adders in Crannie this summer. Somehow I just don't think Calgary summers can compare.

16. I want a new purse. Yep, a brand spankin' new one. It's been almost 3 months and it's time for a new one.

17. I want that baby that Adders and I saw at the hockey game last weekend who he wouldn't let me kidnap. She was that cute, I swear my ovaries were about to march over and put her in my pocket.

18. I wish someone would invent Star Trek travelling wherein you stand in a tanning booth and you're transported to wherever you want to go. That way I could instantly appear in Crannie this Saturday and force Adders to hang out with me instead of going to the stag party for the dude he's the best man for. Did I mention that I'm greedy, selfish and self-absorbed? Yeah, I'm that way with people too. I want their undivided attention. All the time. Constantly. For right now, and now, and now.

19. I like the people I'm working for, I really do. And maybe this job will turn out to provide some cool opportunities. And I am getting excited to go to L.A. for my "business" trip next week. But good grief am I tired of being bored in all my jobs. I want a job that motivates and inspires and challenges me, maybe not all the time, but a good portion of the time at least.

20. I want to know God and the will He has for my life. But I don't want to do all the work that that requires. Besides, He seems like a very frightening, very demanding, very egotistical, very icky Korean man to me now, and that just may be the most saddening and depressing thing in the world. Also, the biggest turn-off. Ever.

21. I want to belly laugh really hard right this instant. I want to laugh like all those times I laughed when I was 10 where it would start with just a laugh but would soon lead to some drooling which would then lead to peeing my pants which would then culminate in my absolutely dying of hyena laughter as I sat in a puddle of my own urine.

22. I want a huge, mammoth, all my friends want to hit me they're so jealous, sized engagement ring. I want J.Lo's - you know, the Bennifer one.

23. I want someone to call me from somewhere on Saturday night when he is out with his friends without me having to explicitly say, "I hope you call me on Saturday night when you're up in Invermere with all your friends."

24. I want more cute clothes that I can wear to work.

25. I want my hair to stop making me look like Side Show Bob.

26. I want The O.C. to stop being so lame. Otherwise, I want Friends to be brought back on the air.

27. I want a kiss and an I love you.

28. And I want one from every single person that I love.

29. I want March to be over. Because March just may be the gloomiest, longest, ickiest, have I mentioned longest month EVER.

30. I want to have one of those days with each of you where we get to step out of time. Charkins, you know what I'm talking about. Because those days are nothing short of perfection. And we could all use a little perfection right now.

31. Oh, and I want world peace.

Look at me go! And I'm still breathing. I guess that little Korean man up in the clouds doesn't hate me as much as I thought, afterall.

Oops, and I forgot my last one:

32. I want a cuddle. I want to bury my face in Adders' neck and smell that intoxicating scent of vanilla and Adamnessness and have him stroke my hair and say, "Bla-by" in that special little way of his where he draws out the two syllables and makes my heart melt all at once.

Sleeping With The Enemy

So exactly one year ago today I had my first sleep over. with. a. BOY!!!!! Actually, that's not exactly true. I had plenty of sleepovers as a child with my bestest friend in the world, the one who my father is convinced is now a gay ballerina, a certain boy named Kevvy (and I know for a fact he was a boy because I shared many baths with him and each and every time I would just stare in wonder at his little penis, shocked that something that looked like that could exist on a human body). I also had a few sleepovers with my younger male cousin and was forced into sharing a bed with one or both of my brothers on numerous occasions over the years. But I had never actually slept in the same ROOM, muchless bed, with a boy who wasn't related to me in over 18 years.

And yet on Wednesday, March 16, 2004 I looked at Adders across the hot tub and said in my most whiny and pleading voice, "I want you to spend the night." And he did. And I didn't sleep a wink. Nope, not even for a millisecond. The whole time I was way too conscience of the fact that "Oh my God, there is a boy who is not a brother in my room right now. Not just in my room, he's in my bed. And it's 3:00am which means he's actually here in the middle of the night! And I know he's a boy because he also has one of those things. And OH MY GOD!!!!" to even get a smidget of sleep.

Now if you're keeping tabs I should clarify that this isn't the anniversary of the night I lost my virginity. That wouldn't come for a while later. But it is the first time I saw Adders naked and he saw me. And while I took to this nudity like a duck takes to water, Adders certainly did not.

In fact, this post isn't so much about Adders and how I truly came to value his tongue (OH YES I DID!!!!), but about how immodest I am and how truly open I am to the body and all its glory. It just so happens that this story of our first sleepover illustrates it perfectly.

First a little background: one time early in our relationship Adders was flipping through my pictures of Europe and came across an infamous photograph of my ass in the air as I peed in a very public park just below the Parthenon in Athens, and I just about DIED. "Oh my God, he now knows I pee! He's now seen my ass! He now knows that I'll pee anywhere, anytime, in front of anyone if need be and that I don't mind being photographed while doing so." Such thoughts ran through my head. But I was also comforted in knowing that, "Hell, this means that I can start peeing in front of him." Which I began to do with alarming frequency.

Then there was the burping that I began to do in front of his presence, but it isn't so much of a bodily function of mine as it is a God-given talent that He has bestowed upon me because clearly, people, I am the Chosen One (just ask my mother) and my burps sound like a chorus of angels singing Hallelujah. Give me a medium Diet Coke from McD's Drive Thru and I challenge anyone, ANYONE, to take me on. I am the fucking Messiah of Burps.

But I digress. Needless to say that I became quite comfortable in doing two of my most frequently enjoyed past times in front of Adders (burping and peeing), long before we ever declothed in front of each other.

And he, well, he somewhat accepted it. I mean, the peeing he was forced to simply because I couldn't hike or drive for more than 10 minutes without having to relieve myself. As for the burping, like any red-blooded male, Adders was at first duly impressed. And then slowly it just turned into helpless resignation, wherein he realized that, "My God, while she looks like a lady, I've never met a more boorish truck driver in my entire life."

And this was all before Adders had even so much sneezed in my presence. However, now at the current point in our relationship I don't feel nearly as bad when I blow his hair back with one of my belches because he routinely grosses me out with his beyond vulgar and filthy commentary on all things in life (have I mentioned his lewd humour before?!).

But again, I digress. At any rate, a year ago today I decided that while the line between virgin and whore was very, very thin, I was more than willing to stand on that line and see just how far I could go with becoming a bona fide slut. With the aid of a cozy fireplace and a bottle of Baby Duck, Adders and I allowed ourselves to get all drugged up on our hormones and gasp! Behold our nakedness!

I decided that to cap off the evening we should go for a hot tub! Yea! Let's make out in the hot tub! Now even though Adders and I had just gotten into all kinds of trouble with one another's naked bodies, he was all, "Okily dokily, let me just go find my swimming trunks." And I just stared at him incredulous because I was already streaking around the house butt-ass naked, contemplating never putting on another article of clothing in front of him ever again. Ever.

And that was when I realized that, he? Was nothing like me. I was the girl in grade seven who stripped down to nothing but her panties and pranced around the change room singing at the top of her lungs, while all the other girls stared on in horror, hidden in the corners while desperately trying to shield their non-existent breasts that were already covered in a bra and gym shirt.

To this day I have no problem with carrying on a serious, long-winded conversation with my Dad as I stand there in nothing but a thong and bra and he in his tighty whities.

I also have no problem with acquainting whoever crosses my path when I'm suffering from period cramps that, "I'm on my rag, you asshole. Get out of my way."

So me? Not very modest. In fact, after the hot tub, I relished in being able to pee in front of Adders for the first time on a toilet! With the door open! How fun! Meanwhile, Adders was surely dying. Because he is MODEST. Let me re-emphasize that: M*O*D*E*S*T. He didn't grow up in a family where the men like to dangle their penises in front of each other and the women have their closest heart-to-heart conversations completely naked.

And so while our experimentation with my whoredom gave me even more liberty to strut around naked unabashedly and pee with no shame, Adders felt the exact opposite. When he had to pee that night, he did so with the door FIRMLY closed. If he could have peed in the guest bathroom, he would have but that might have seemed overly compulsive and fuck, he was trying to get laid. But hell if it didn't kill him to take off that towel and step into the hot tub naked. You could just see his brain screaming the words, "Kill me, kill me right now." And this coming from a man who should be downright proud to walk around nude!

At any rate, once we started having full blown sex, I felt it was my right, nay my DUTY, to shield Adders from absolutely nothing. He had to hear about my period in Technicolour detail, down to every last cramp. He had to know with intimate knowledge just what it felt like to pee with a bladder infection. Never again would he witness me putting on pajamas (and every time he'd climb into bed with his boxers on, I'd be like, "WTF?! Pfffftt, what are those for? Whatcha hiding?"). I had to let him know just what it felt like to ovulate and just what it looked like as well (What?! It was important for him to know! How else could he share in the horror of the possibility that I might be pregnant every two seconds if he didn't know every twinge and shake of my body?). I felt that since he was using my body to experience pleasure, I would use his ears to tell him everything else there was to know about my body. And his eyes to show him.

But let me just tell you, ladies, there is going too far. Yes, there is because I have been there. And then I have been left stranded in the land of TOO FAR with no way to get back except hitch a ride or take the bus because my driver, namely my boyfriend, couldn't drive me home since he was too busy stabbing his eyes out with crochet needles after I CHANGED MY TAMPON IN FRONT OF HIM! Oh, the horror, THE HORROR! And it was horrible. The look on his face as I looked up indicated that it was too horrible for words. His face was paralyzed into a contortion of terror and utter disgust. And here I thought growing up with a sister would have prepared him for life with a woman. But then I remembered that siblings don't usually change their tampons in front of each other. Nor do most married couples. And that would probably explain Adders' dry heaving and choked sobs.

And yet, as of late, I realize that my little Adders has come a looooong, looooong way from the boy who looked like I had suggested that we drink some arsenide and then go throw some baby kittens down a river when I told him to forget about those swimming trunks, let's go in the hot tub NAKED! Now Adders rarely wears his underwear to bed. And I have had his penis whipped out for proud display just for the helluva it on more accounts than I care to remember. And I have heard things come out of his mouth that are the audible equivalent to having a tampon changed in front of you, they are THAT lewd!

Adders is no longer shy or modest. And if he wasn't so big and tough and could totally kick my ass, I would have no qualms about posting the picture of him wearing nothing but a (short!) t-shirt and hiking boots, his displayed manhood practically beaming for the camera.

Instead, I'll just prove the point that's he come a long way by showing that
he too now enjoys taking photographs of me peeing in public.

And yet, and yet. Even I have my limits for immodesty. And the one thing that I am exceedingly private about and get excruciatingly embarrassed over is my shy little bowels. Adders and I do not talk about this or discuss it with any sort of regularity (did you catch that pun?!). In fact, the one story about when I paralyzed my father after he told the world about my bout with constipation Adders had to literally tear from my lips.

And this is shocking to many because my father is the KING of bathroom humour. Mention a time that you almost pooped your pants and my dad will shed tears, TEARS, of laughter on your behalf. Bodily functions were very common discussions at our dinner table growing up, what with three males in the family. An example? Yes, please. The first time Charkins ever met Jebus (the middle child in our family), he told her about his bout with beaver fever. And he told her things that no one should ever tell another human being, not even one's doctor. And how Charkins returned to our house after that I will never know. She must have really liked my rat-nest hair.

And yet, even though I was always a bit prudish about that sort of thing (long before I even had shy bowels, I had a shy bladder that didn't like anyone listening to it tinkle. Ever. And Charkins usually had to perform some amazing feats to prevent anyone from hearing such tinkling), nothing could have prepared me for living with Tamara Lee, she who never shat or at least would never EVER admit such a thing.

For three years I lived with Tamara Lee and for three years I bought the toilet paper because she was too embarrassed lest someone at the grocery store somehow surmise that, gasp!, she actually used it (and not just for peeing either!).

Her absolute indignation and disgust of all things bodily (except for my burps, because c'mon now, who can resist them? They are magical, miraculous. They are GODLY) had its effect on me and I too became horrified whenever a fart joke was mentioned.

Thus, the first time Adders had dinner at my house with my entire family during Christmas last year, I wanted the ground to swallow me up numerous, numerous times. In fact, death would have been sweet mercy to all the burning embarrassment I lived through. Because really, apparently it's just too much to ask my father to go for longer than 5 minutes without saying something pertaining to a bathroom and what is done in there.

And then there was the time that Adders and I watched the movie "Envy" and again, why the fuck won't the ground just swallow me up already?

And here we are today, with me being able to prance around naked to my heart's content in front of my boyfriend, pee anywhere and anytime, and burp like a champ (and now he even provides commentary on them, such as, "Gee, that smelled like a swamp!"), but fuck if I'm able to utter the word "poop" in front of Adders without wanting to start digging my own goddamn hole then, thank you very much, Ground, for your non-existent help. Yeah, we still got a way's to go to be at my father's level. And please God, let's hope we never get there!

But back to the anniversary of my very first sleep over with Adders. Snicklefritz, there is no one else in the world that I want to sleep with. And even though sleeping with you is often a nightmare from start to finish what with all your twitches, and snoring, and complaints about windburn from the fan, and your unwillingness to wake up and talk to me when hello! clearly I'm awake, let's talk now, and your suggestions that I should just sleep on my stomach, goddammit, and all the ten trillion times you must look at the clock in case you're late for work, which you don't have to be at for another 6 hours so just chill already, and your inability to hear all the clomping around upstairs, how can you sleep with all this noise?, and the fact that the birds are clearly hell bent on never letting me get any zzzzz's again but yet all you can mumble is, "Shhhhh, just sleeeeeep. Mmmmmm. Sleeeeeeep." Yessiree, despite all of that, you're still my favourite bed-mate. And sleep-overs with you are without a doubt my most favourite thing in the entire world (made doubly fun because they also usually involve sex and chocolate!).

So baby, here's to the first time you ever put your arms around me,
Held me tight,
Removed my scratchy hair from your face
And whispered good night.

Not Feeling So Groovy

So I'm feeling depressed today. This isn't entirely surprising since I have felt depressed some 99.9% (just like my birth control!) of the time since September 10, 2005 - the day my mother and I drove to Vancouver so I could attend Regent College (aka "The Biggest Mistake of My Life"). Over the course of the past six months, I have struggled to feel happy on a daily basis. And oh me, oh my has it ever been a struggle. Ask Adders, I'm sure he's more than willing to testify (and for proof, he will provide the pages long phone bills showing the thousands and thousands of minutes he spent on the telephone, trying to placate his grieving, hysterical girlfriend).

But it's strange because I have never really experienced depression before. Oh, sure. I've had a few bouts, a few weeks here and there when I wasn't feeling my happiest. But even in high school, when I literally believed I was trapped in the deepest recesses of hell, I still felt moderately cheerful because there was fantasy, there were People magazines, there was university to look forward to.

And then I spent two painful summers at home. The first one was between my third and fourth years of university and while one brother frolicked in Calgary and another saved the world overseas, I had to witness every illusion I had about my parents' marriage be blown apart. I somehow became their marriage counsellor and confidante, and it was as grueling and painful as one might imagination. It didn't help that I had zero friends in Crannie, and Charkins was off in ArkansASS, playing kitchen cook and making out with 12 year olds.

Then came Europe, which as I recently observed to Adders, should have cured me from any illusion on what happiness looks like. It should have grown me up to just face life, dammit. How at 22 I still thought MY life (forget anyone else's - we're just concerned with me here) would play out like a Danielle Steele novel, I'll never understand. But Europe hurt me more than even that summer did because it was supposed to live up to every book, every movie, every fantasy I ever had about two best friends travelling Europe together. And it didn't. Instead, there were fights, lack of money, indecisiveness and disappointment (but don't worry, there was a helluva lot of fun too. And wonderful yogurt. And sunsets in Greece that took my breath away. And stinky cheese. And 5:00am walks through the snow to the train station in a French town with an enchanted castle).

But when I got back from Europe, I couldn't think about the helluva lot of fun stuff Charkins and I had experienced there. I was more caught up in the fact that, Fuck that was nothing like I thought it would be, and Fuck am I in a shit-load of debt now, and Holy Fuck do I not want to be in Crannie right now, living at my parents' house.

And so my second summer of hell began, wherein nothing had changed with my parents, both brothers were absent as usual, and my only friend was a mean, viscious alcoholic who we'll call Dave Version 2.10billion. And although I enjoyed my job, I hated my life. It also didn't help that Charkins was at this time consumed in the throes of the very best thing in the world - summer lovin'. Unforrtunately, it was with a gay man (and we have the modelling credits to prove it). Tamara Lee was also in the midst of her own complicated love struggle with a lovely and not gay at all man who we shall call Maximus and who we hope will be here for a very long time. But if there is anything worse than being trapped in a summer of hell, it is when you are stuck there but your best friends are off enjoying their summers of love.

Nevertheless, the summer soon gave way to fall, and my depression only deepened, culminating in a Thanksgiving at my Grams' place, with my mother saying to me without even a hint of irony in her voice, "I am not responsible for your happiness." (Ooooh, how I'd love to throw that comment back in her face now because let me get this straight: you're not responsible for my happiness, but me and my intact virginity are directly responsible for yours? Sounds fair to me!).

Anyhow, October 2004 was a terrible, dark, lonely, bitter month for me. That is until I met my own version of the second coming of Jesus Christ. And I'm here to tell you, Jesus has himself a gorgeous set of blue/green eyes, a smirk that will get you horny EVERY SINGLE TIME, and just about the most vulgar sense of humour you've ever encountered. Although I didn't know it at the time, Monday, October 25, 2004 changed everything and it also began what would come to be the best year of my life (at least so far).

I won't bore ya'll with the details, especially when you know them all anyhow, but falling in love with Adders made me more happy than I could ever have believed I could be. And while over the course of time, things started to get more dicey at home again and the Redhead started stepping up her crazy and I had to step up my lying, I didn't seem to mind because, gosh darnit, I was in looooove!

And it is the one period in my life when I can recall distinctly saying to myself, over and over again: You're happy. Enjoy this because right now, YOU. ARE. HAPPPPPPPY! For example, there was this one time last April when Adders decided to take me on my first fishing expedition in years. Of course, the fishing I did was nil, but I remember lying in that boat, barking at a dog, swilling a cooler, enjoying the relief of having my period (not that I even could have even been pregnant at that point, but since I am a hypochondriac in all things I thought that our feverish hand-holding the night before might have led to conception), taking in the view of a near topless Adders row me across the lake, and thinking to myself, "Wow, am I ecstatically happy right now. In fact, no matter what the future holds, no matter how much pain and misery, it will be worth it for being this happy and this content with this man at this moment."

I'm telling you, love did crazy, crazy things to me. And it released some crazy, crazy hormones! Which made me feel crazy, crazy good most of the time. And while last summer had its difficult moments as I tried to decide whether to go to Vancouver, and poor Adders had to grapple with the fall-out of my decision, we were still on top of the world.

That's what has made my past 6 months of depression doubly difficult, for I succumbed to it after having enjoyed an almost year long high, which was entirely 100% due to the glorious endorphins and orgasms my body had been enjoying on a regular basis. Suffice to say, last September hit me like a tonne of bricks. It was figuratively like falling off a mountain - so high to so low, so damn fast.

To be fair, my depression didn't hit full force until November. September was difficult but a blanket from Adders and a kick-ass night of partying with Charkins (followed by a killer hangover) made it somewhat bearable.

October was even more tolerable, if only because I got to be with Adders for both Thanksgiving and a full 10 days during Reading Week. That said, Thanksgiving was still a bitch because it was when things officially began to go from bad to worse with my mother.

And then November hit. And nothing, NOTHING could have prepared me for it. I will never forget standing in my dorm room (or prison cell, as I affectionately referred to it), the phone clasped to my chest, dry heaving because I was sobbing so hard, and having Adders pet my hair and look absolutely petrified of me as my world shattered to itty bitty bits. Having just gotten off the phone to my parents, I remember thinking that things really couldn't get any worse, poor foolish girl that I was!

With the help of Charkins and Adders, who both stood valiantly by my side and endured my never-ending hysterics, I somehow made it through the next six weeks. And yet it still didn't end. Landing at the Cranbrook airport for Christmas break, I saw poor Adders standing there looking weary and exhausted, terrified that he would be picking up the alien that had abducted his once happy and amusing girlfriend. And the next week and a half was agony as I came to realize that he was barely holding on himself, because my God, woman, he can only take so much. I spent Christmas break trying to make amends, convincing Adders that I would get better, that I would stop leaning so entirely on him. I remember one night in early January, sitting in his truck and he had just said something that was both sweet and probably vulgar (I can't stress to you just how filthy this man is), and I laughed and smiled at him and he got this shocked look on his face and in all sincerity said to me, "I can't remember the last time you looked at me like that." And I thought my heart would break then and there, because God only knows what this poor boy has suffered.

Nevertheless, my time at home wasn't the greatest of successes because everytime my mother raged or screamed or bawled or snarked during Christmas (which was often), I was responsible for the clean-up. Unfortunately, I had barely enough energy to keep myself above water, much less my mom. Needless to say, Charkins and Adders had to endure many more of my breakdowns.

Then I was faced with moving to Calgary, finding a job, and once again having to be separated from Adders on a constant, daily, heart-breaking basis.

And then all hell broke loose.

And here we are. Yet in the past two weeks I feel like I've been given a short respite from what now seems to be a daily battle with depression. Sure, I still bawled on occasion. And yes, Adders had to deal with the rage that I get when disappointed (but that Adders, he has some rage of his own. Just ask his steering wheel. Or my ear drums). Yet over the past two weeks Tamara Lee and I made peanut butter cups and watched various mindless television shows, I got to go to a Flames game, and Adders MSN'd with me at lunch which gave me something to look forward to every single morning as I opened up my computer. And then there were the weekends, oh the past two weekends, both of which involved great hockey, lots of alcohol, even more sex, yummy food, sunlit hikes, earnest talks, sincere "I love you's" (followed by much snorting and bursts of laughter), some lovely hand-holding and glorious sleeps on a wonderful new set of sheets.

On Friday night as I drove in to Crannie, early enough to make the Ice game, I noticed our town sign, welcoming everyone to CRANBROOK and I thought to myself, "I am happy. As in right now. Fuck, I am excited. And I am happy."

On Monday morning, as I left early enough to not make my boss hate me, that same sign seemed to mock me, taunting me by asking, "Where's your happiness now?" And all I could think was that he was back home in bed without me.

My parents return home today. That depresses me. Instead of a kiss tonight from Adders, I'll only get a whisper in my ear. That depresses me. Instead of being able to phone my mom and ask her about her trip, I'll be avoiding her calls, that is, if she does call. That depresses me.

I'm not going to be so foolish as to say that it can't get any worse. Because I know it can. And maybe it will. But I will ask, how much more can I take? And I don't know. But I don't like this Miss Courty. Depressed Miss Courty isn't any fun. I'm tired of trying not to cry every single time I'm on the phone with Adders, I'm tired of being over-sensitive and taking every slight or every mistake someone makes as being an intentional way to "attack me." I'm tired of being 24 and thinking that my life is just passing me by.

Last Saturday night, Adders and I sat up at PeterLynn and philosophized on what happiness is and what it looks like and if it can be attained for any great amount of time. It's the type of conversation that should take place under the influence of marijuana (insert sighs and I told you so's here), but we still managed to analyze the subject to death with the aid of our cheap bottle of strawberry wine. And our conclusion was, "Who the fuck knows?" Is happiness possible? Who knows! Can one be happy for any length of time? Who knows! The only two things for certain are (1) happiness is never guaranteed; and (2) Adders, you make me happy. Very happy.

And yet here I am, depressed again today. And I probably will be tomorrow. And the day after that. Should I be medicated? I don't think so. I hope not. I mean, I can still get out of bed and go about my day. I just wish it didn't feel like my heart was being ripped from chest as I am doing it.

And yet, all I have to do is look at this picture
and I know what happiness feels like.

As Unoriginal As Fake Blonde Hair

Ok, for those of you who read blogs, I'm sure you're sick of reading everybody's "100 Things" lists. I mean c'mon, they are sooooo last season. But since two of the three of you who read my blog have never read anyone else's (up until I introduced you to the world of blogging, you were all like, "Hmmm? What's this you're saying? You're blah? You have a blah? What in God's name kind of language are you speaking? Oh, blog! Right-o, yeah that clarifies EVERYthing ["Psssst, Adders? Do you have any goddamn clue what Miss Courty's talking about right now? And have I mentioned that I have my very own group of students?" "Errrr, no Tamara Lee, but I sure could use some chilli right about now. My name's Adders and I like sheep."]), you probably don't have a freakin' clue what this whole "100 Things" thing is about. So let me do it for you. It will entertain you for, ho hum, the next 2.3 minutes or so. You will also find it's shockingly similar to the post where I wrote the 30-odd things that I know about myself, because I'm just original like that:

Miss Courty's 100 Things

1. The only person who calls me Courty with any regular consistency is my mom.
2. And my mom scares me in a way that no other person on Earth can.
3. I've had many nicknames in my lifetime, one of my favourites being "Snicklefritz"; one of my most despised being "Larva Lady."
4. I used to be thankful that I was the only girl in my family.
5. Now I wish that I had a sister who could take some of the heat/pressure off of me. And who would also understand what it's like to be a girl in our often weird, sometimes wonderful family.
6. But I love being a girl (periods and childbirth aside).
7. The only thing I've ever stolen in my entire life is bulk candy from the grocery store. And even then it was only a few chocolate covered almonds or some jellybeans.
8. No one makes me laugh harder than my brother when he's on a roll.
9. I DESPISE it when people say they're spiritual but not religious. Bull shit. At this point, I think I'm neither.
10. And I hate it when people say they're liberal and think they should be given a goddamned medal or something.
11. I love to read. But sometimes starting a new book seems like work.
12. I love to write. But having to write essays for school in university sent me spiralling into panic meltdowns each and every time.
13. I did my undergrad degree in English Literature and Religious Studies. Suffice to say, I spent the entire four years of university in permanent terror.
14. I wish I could travel back in time and tell my younger, more studious self to just lighten up a bit. And perhaps to drink more.
15. I have never had my heart broken.
16. And yet I've had my heart broken several times. Just not in the traditional sense of a boy dumping my ass.
17. In the past I've dumped the majority of boys I've dated.
18. There haven't been that many. But I've also had my share of stalkers.
19. Sadly, I've yet to require a restraining order. Too bad - they seem glamourous.
20. I have to pee quite frequently. In fact, I have to pee right now.
21. I once thought I would be married by this age.
22. One of my biggest fears is that I'll never get married at all.
23. My boyfriend is jealous of my childhood playmate named Kevvy. He says that I talk about him a lot. I probably do. But it's only because I have many fond memories of him.
24. I remember my childhood vividly.
25. I was happy for most of it.
26. But I was also under the naive impression that everyone adored me.
27. Needless to say, the shock that not everyone did was a jarring one.
28. I've been called "unapproachable" and it's true. And it's my fault. But I don't know how to change it.
29. I'm friendly. But I'm not very warm. Is that how you would describe me?
30. I didn't lose my virginity until I was 23.
31. I'm glad that I waited that long, but I know that I couldn't have waited any longer.
32. Needless to say, my parents or brothers don't know about this blog.
33. And now they never will. EVER.
34. But back to the sex. Having it made me much more honest with my boyfriend.
35. I showed him the real me (which means I started yelling and crying and whining a lot more).
36. He was shocked. But he stuck around. And he's still sticking, despite some things.
37. For years my favourite burger at McDonald's was a cheeseburger with a tomato on it.
38. Now it's a Quarter Pounder with a tomato on it. A cheeseburger wasn't filling enough.
39. I have never had an eating disorder per se. But in high school I was freakishly obsessed with how much I ate. To the point where I felt guilty for eating a handful of M&Ms.
40. I'm not nearly as paranoid about that anymore, although I'm still fond of saying, "I'm the fattest kid in the world."
41. I have the world's shyest, most timid bowels and they refuse to have any sort of regularity at all. And this has been the source of much humour in my family for years and years, much to my chagrin.
42. I am actually dying of embarrassment right now over having shared that. Oh, well.
43. When I was younger, I wanted to be the following things: a psychologist, a lawyer, an actress, a writer.
44. I probably would have been good at all those things, except being an actress.
45. I'm far too self-conscious.
46. When I was 10 I wrote a short story about triplets.
47. When I was 11, I made Charkins read it. And to this day she still mentions it.
48. I wanted to be a twin or a triplet soooooo badly growing up.
49. My first kiss is pretty vague in my mind. It was with a boy who I still see periodically in my hometown. He's nasty. And I always can't help but shudder with horror.
50. I always knew boys were vulgar; afterall, I have two brothers.
51. But it took having a serious boyfriend to realize just how vulgar they are indeed.
52. I want four kids. No ifs, ands or buts. I really don't want to compromise on this.
53. But I realize that you can't always predict the future.
54. I've never really had to experience the death of a super close loved one.
55. Which is good because death scares the fucking hell out of me.
56. I believe in God. But I don't know if I like Him anymore.
57. However, I don't think that I get a big choice in the matter. Or maybe I do.
58. Charkins fucked with my head this summer in terms of God.
59. It's both a good and a bad thing.
60. When I was 11, I thought I would move to Vienna, Austria when I was a grown up.
61. I didn't actually like Vienna much when I finally visited there.
62. I just realized that I lied about stealing because stealing books from the Pink Palace in Greece was one of the funniest things I've ever done.
63. But being AT the Pink Palace was one of my most disappointing experiences.
64. I don't believe we're ever really happy in the moment. It's only in reflecting on the past that we ever gauge how we felt at the time.
65. That being said, those first six months when I was falling in love with Adders I knew the entire time that I was in ecstasy and that I should enjoy it.
66. Love has its rewards at every stage of the relationship. But it's sad when that first initial buzz starts to dwindle and you don't really care that he's seeing you with no make up on.
67. Toilet paper HAS to roll over rather than under for me. I go simply batty if it doesn't.
68. I feel like my family has fallen apart at the moment and that devastates me.
69. Yes, I've tried the sex position that goes with this number. It's also part of Adders' online name. And it's one of Charkins favourite numbers. Tamara Lee also has a white fleece outfit with this number proudly displayed. It's quite popular, wouldn't you say?
70. I want to live until I'm past 100. I'm afraid of death, remember?
71. I enjoy making up music videos to my favourite songs in my head. They're much better than the actual ones that are made.
72. I'm a hypochondriac. I don't know why. It makes my life a trillion times more stressful than it needs to be.
73. Whenever I've started dating someone, I've always tried out there last name on me, to see if it fits.
74. And I've liked the last names of all the boys I've dated. But not all their first ones.
75. I never thought life would be this boring. Or this tedious.
76. But I'd rather life be boring and tedious rather than filled with pain and suffering, even though the latter is more dramatic.
77. Sometimes I pick fights. It's not a good thing.
78. I like trying new hair products for curly hair. I'm always on the look-out for that one hair gel that would make my curls non-frizzy.
79. My goal is to try and stay the same weight that I was at 18 until I'm really old. I've heard this is the secret to longevity.
80. I'm already 5 lbs. heavier than I was at 18.
81. None of those pounds can be found on my boobs.
82. If I had more money and knew what I was doing with my life, I'd get a cat. I like cats. Much more than dogs. Though I like dogs too.
83. I recently started watching "Family Guy." It's funny. I don't know why it took me so long to get into it. That Stewie kills me.
84. I had more fun at Koocanusa last summer than I did at Invermere.
85. And that shocked the fucking hell out of me.
86. The people in my office say I don't look like a Courtney. They've rechristened me Ashley.
87. I like Courtney a trillion times better than Ashley. Although I once named a doll Ashleigh.
88. I'm weary of not knowing where I'll be in a year from now. It's been that way for too long.
89. I've never had a facial. I've always wanted one.
90. I would never survive on "The Amazing Race." I would die. Or kill my partner. Or both, in a grand murder-suicide extravaganza.
91. The only person I'd ever do "The Amazing Race" with would be Charkins (sorry Adders, but if we did it together, you'd never marry me, and that is a fact).
92. I feel like I should be doing more with my life but the thought of volunteering makes me break out into a cold sweat.
93. I wish I could have perfect skin. Mine is so very annoying and tempermental.
94. Dancing on top of PeterLynn to Michael Buble is one of my most beautiful memories ever.
95. And sitting in his tour bus with Tamara Lee is one of my most surreal.
96. I kinda wish I had a tattoo. But I think I'd regret it if I got one.
97. If a guy ever got my name tattooed on himself, I'd swoon, and pant and quite possibly melt into a puddle right there on the spot. That said, I don't ever expect any guy to do so.
98. I once thought that the Beach Boys were the epitome of coolness. But then again, this was at a time when I despised showering and using a headband was the extent of my hairstyling.
99. I don't take compliments very well. I'm very suspicious of them, and I always doubt people's sincerity.
100. I kinda wish this period in my life were over, although I don't want to wish any time of my life away. But it's just that there are too many unanswered questions and I hate feeling this stagnant and unsettled.

----

So there you go. There's 100 pieces of info about a certain Miss Courty for you to go suck on. And once again, I have done nothing but play on my blog all the livelong day. Sigh. They really don't pay me enough for all the work that I do at this job.

Is it just me or did this entry depress you? So it is just me? Alright, fair enough. We'll meet back here tomorrow then. That is, if I don't go stick my head into an oven first. And then think how guilty ya'll will feel for not taking this post as a cry for help.

I'm joking. Well, kinda. Just about the depression part. But I'm dead serious about possibly using the oven tonight to assist in my demise.

And now Adders is starting to get that prickling sensation he always feels whenever he has a premonition that our next phone conversation will end in either me crying or me hanging up the phone (or if we're being truthful here, most likely both). Run for your life, Adders, run for your life.

P.S. I love you!

Weekend Ramblings

La la la. Have no clue what to write about. Should I entertain ya'll with the joy of driving 30 minutes to work every morning via Deerfoot (poor Adders, you would die. DIE! Not b/c of the long drive but from the trillion rock chips your truck would get on there each day). Or I could recount my weird, depressing dream that I had about my parents last night which left me wanting to kill myself when my alarm went off at 7:15am (because usually I am just happy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at that time of the day). Yeah, you guys would surely enjoy that. I mean, who doesn't like hearing about other people's dreams? GAH! Or I could explain to you that the song "Overprotected" by Britney Spears was practically written for me! I know, I know. Remember like 4 or 5 years ago when I was obsessed with "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" (which made both Charkins and Tamara Lee very, very nervous) until I finally had to realize that in fact I'm certainly not a girl anymore but not much of a woman either so I best be working on that? Well, even though "Overprotected" is an older (and yes, popular) song of the Britster's, it was like I was listening to it for the first time as I was driving to work this morning. Seriously, people, this is my theme song. Who knew Britney and I also had this in common (the other thing being that at respective points in each of our lives we both wanted to make sweet love to Justin Timberlake)? Anyhow, read the words - you'll be amazed:

Say hello to the girl that I am
You're gonna have to see through my perspective
I need to make mistakes just to learn who I am
And I don't wanna be so damn protected

There must be another way
'Cause I believe in taking chances
But who am I to say
What a girl is to do
God I need some answers...

What am I to do with my life?
(You will find it out don't worry)
How am I supposed to know what's right?
(You just gotta do it your way)
I can't help the way I feel
But my life has been so overprotected

I tell them what I like, what I want and what I don't
But everytime I do, I stand corrected
Things that I've been told, I can't believe what I hear about the world
I realize I'm overprotected

There! Cheesy? Yes. Dead-on? Yes. Coincidence? I think not. Britney and I are like the same person. Except it turns out that I'm way prettier, no word of a lie.

La la la! Ok, so I just phoned to see about getting 2006/07 season tickets for my boss for the Calgary Flames and Wow. There is an 1800 person waiting list. 1800 people are willing to sell their souls to go watch some hockey. Good thing that Jarome Iginla is in love with me and will see to it that I can just jump the list. Either that or I guess I'll be performing a few tricks for some Flames' owners. Oh, back off! I'm just joking with ya. I don't even know what a trick is. I'm overprotected, remember?

So how 'bout a story? You guys feel like a story today? But what story to tell. Hmmmmm. Well, maybe I'll just recount my weekend, that way Adders can go watch TV now since he already knows what happened and Charkins doesn't have to return my phone call to find out what took place.

So this past weekend I returned to Crannie and stayed at La Maison de Magro which was fan-tab-u-lous. Seriously. I got to sleep in Adders' bed which is now the equivalent of sleeping on a fluffy white cloud of goodness instead of the cardboard box on a street corner that it used to be. To be fair, it still snows in the basement, it's so freakin' cold down there but you hardly notice anymore because he now actually has blankets! Like fleeceyness! And a proper duvet cover! Adders' mom even made sure that I got to enjoy his bed with fresh, clean sheets (unlike Adders himself who was all, "Pfffft. Clean sheets. Why I never! Who needs those? Clean sheets are like clean underwear - overrated and completely unnecessary").

So yeah, staying at M de M was great because there was also food there, unlike what there would have been at my place. We enjoyed tacos, and yummy French toast and also, my very own homemade chilli. Now, not to brag or anything, but my chilli has an effect on people. In fact, Adders will have to post a comment to declare just how God-darn good my chilli was (you should have seen him chow this stuff down too. It was frightening. He snarled at me when I tried to share a container of it with him).

I also got stalked while at home. By like, the entire town of Crannie. And my brother. Why must everyone pay so much attention to me? Am I really that beautiful and fascinating? But seriously, Adders and I went to the hockey game on Friday night, practically incognito (and by that I mean I looked really hot. As in HOTT. To the point where Adders actually said, "Damn, you like fine. You clean up reeaaal nice. Too bad you don't look like this all the time." Sigh, he's so romantic and does such a great job of building up my shattered self-esteem). Anyhow, we went to the hockey, got there LATE, sat in a corner and I even hid in my seat the entire time so no one would see me, and then we ran the hell out of there afterwards.

Actually, this last part is not true. Instead, we went upstairs to the bar once the game was over and got downright pissed. Like I was so drunk I was handing out dating advice and shit. I was like Dr. Phil without the mustache or the annoying accent or the wise counsel. I even told one of Adders' friends how best to seduce his on-again/off-again girlfriend. Ha ha ha - which reminds me. You shoulda seen Adders chiming in with his two cents at this point. And I kept saying, "No, honey, he shouldn't do that. No, baby, that wouldn't be a good idea. Adders, sweetie, maybe you should stop talking now. We're talking about seduction here. Not what you should have done for Valetine's Day." And then my poor baby looked so confused and so very put out! And now he's probably very, very angry with me. Like right now he is pissed! But Adders, I'm just teasing! You're very good at seducing me. Isn't that what got us in this whole mess with my parents in the first place? ;)

ANYHOW, the point is that by the next day it was all over town that there had been a Miss Courty sighting. I am not bull shitting with you here, folks. Like, the Crannie equivalent of the paparazzi were out in full force (read: the employees at McDonalds restaurant). Frig! And Jessica-cry-me-a-freakin'-river-Simpson thinks she's got it bad.

Other weekend highlights included: being called "woman" by Adders' friend numerous times (because what every girl likes to be addressed as in 2006 is "woman"); Adders' dog Ringo scarring me with his penis. And that's all I'll say about that; having Adders say "1,2,3,4,5,6 rrrraaaaawwww" ten billion trillion times and then laughing his foolish head off while I just stared out the window and sighed, thinking, "Why, God? Why me?"; and lastly, waking up every morning and seeing Adders curled up beside me, his eyes flickering at a 100 miles/hour, a pile of drool on his pillow (or wait, was that mine?) but looking so darn cute that it made me want to stay in that bed with him forever (that is, until I smelled bacon cooking upstairs and then I was like, "Get up, bitch. Go cook me some bacon before I die! Baaaacon! Must...eat...baaaaaaacon.").

So there you have it. I had an excellent weekend with my boy-toy and I was quite tempted to drive off the road on my way back to Calgary, and I so would have if it hadn't been for Miss Tamara Lee phoning me with updates on the horrors of what certain celebrities were wearing to the Oscars. Which put it all back into perspective for me because afterall, if making fun of those who have more money and yet dress worse than me isn't worth living for, I don't know what is.

Grrrrrr Is For Angry

That sound you hear? It's me. Barking like a dog. But not in a fun and silly way, like the time I barked like a poodle for Charkins in front of the Empress Hotel (hey, Schnarks? Have I ever told you that my great-aunt killed herself in a hotel room at the Empress? Waddya mean you've already heard that story? You sure? You're telling me that I've already told you this story, start to finish, about a trillion times? Well, did you know that she did it by hanging herself? Huh? Wait, how did you know that? But still, you want to hear it again, right? Right? Fine, be that way, I HATE YOU).

So why the barking, Miss Courty, you might ask. Well, darling reader, 'tis a growl of frustration. Which leads me to today's topic. People, I have unearthed yet another nugget of truth about myself. And it is this: I don't take kindly to disappointment. "WTF?" you are probably thinking right now. NO ONE likes being disappointed. But see, where other members of society can often take disappointment in stride, such as, "Oh, the movie's already started. Oh, well. We'll just go see something else," my reaction is more often than not, "FUCK THAT SHIT! WHY DOES THE UNIVERSE HATE ME? WHY MUST YOU ALL CONSPIRE AGAINST ME? No, no! I don't care if another movie that I wanted to see is starting in 10 minutes. I don't want to see that one! Actually, I don't want to see another movie ever again. EVER! I am shunning ALL cinema for the rest of my life! EVERYTHING IS RUUUUUUUINED!"

You think I'm exaggerating. Which means you're either clearly naive ("Surely someone couldn't be that unreasonable!") or you clearly don't know me. In either case, if you want some hard-evidence, Charkins probably has that very reaction on tape somewhere (or she could just show you the physical scars from such similar outbursts) (come to think of it, Adders has probably got a couple too).

So how did I just stumble upon this discovery about myself? Because, people, I have been met by severe disappointment in the past 24 hours. SEVERE. I won't bother going into pesky details but suffice to say it involves the best laid plans being completely SKEWERED by SOMEONE'S GODDAMN BROTHER GRRRRRRRRRRROOOOWWWWL!

***
Please look away for a few moments as I attempt to regather my sanity
***

Whew. Wow. Needed to get that out. Anyhow, I was looking forward to this weekend for various reasons, most importantly because I was going to get some much needed one-on-one solo/alone time with Adders (and no, I'm not going to be cute and mischevious right now and insert a wink wink, nod nod even though make no mistake I am definitely tempted to. But that would be crude. And quite possibly too much information. Although, to be fair, that's never stopped me before. Hmmmm, so very very tempted...). At any rate, it's now all RUINED (and again, all because of someone's GODDAMN BROTHER).

And I? Am not taking kindly to this change in direction. Nope, not me. In fact, I am behaving basically the way I always do when faced with great disappointment, which is to throw an enormous temper tantrum, yell at the heavens, then at whoever else will listen, and lastly, ateempt to change things by my own force of will back to the way they were before. This method is rarely successful and usually invovlves (a) people either getting extremely frightened or greatly annoyed at me, and/or (b) me sheepishly and wearily having to make do with the way things are after having downright humiliated myself with such behaviour.

But here is the kicker, kids. See, today when I was informed by the gd-brother that I would have to change my plans, I was FURIOUS! I became blinded by my rage wherein all I could see was red, and there may even have been smoke pouring out of my nostrils. I immediately phoned Adders and shrieked, "It's all ruined! EVERYTHING! I'm throwing myself out the window as we speak. I hate life! I hate you all!" as par course. And Adders, in reply, was like, "Uhhhhhhh, come again now?" So I repeated the tale of woe and informed him that we might as well just kill ourselves since CLEARLY THE ENTIRE GALAXY IS HELL-BENT ON MAKING OUR LIVES MISERABLE FOR EVER AND EVER." And Adders again, was like, "Riiiiiiight. Well, you know, why don't you try that suicide thing. Tell me how it works out. Then get back to me and we'll see what other options might do instead."

And that was when all of the sudden it dawned on me - OH MY GOD, I AM MY MOTHER! Don't you see? The reason she went crazy two weeks ago is because suddenly she was faced with information that was quite possibly the most catacalysmically disappointing thing she had ever heard. And she couldn't bear it. She went nutty. Lost it. Succumbed. And by doing so, she wreaked havoc on many, many lives. And that's not fair. Nor is it right. I mean, it's one thing to be disappointed. But it's another thing to not be able to take disappointment in stride and deal with it like, oh I don't know, a non-psychotic person?

But here I am, well on my way to becoming just like that! I mean, if I'm losing it over weekend trysts getting messed up, how will I be able to handle the disappointment of my child not being as beautiful as me or not ever winning the Pulitzer Prize (which, between us, I am so entitled to). I need to learn to go with the flow. I need to be able to face disappointment and go, "Meh. So we'll do things differntly." Yep. That is what I need to do and that is my homework for this week (that sound you now hear is Adders going, "Oh fuck this. Yeah, I'm sure. This will last all of an hour until she's told that they're out of something on the menu"). At any rate, this is what I'm going to try and do (try being the operative word then, meaning that when I fail miserably and start hurling things at poor Adders in a fit of fury, ya'll have to be sympathetic and understanding, and say, "But at least she's trying, the poor thing!").

Yep. So that's my discovery. And I know you all are probably thinking to yourselves, "Wow. That read like an after school special. Where was she in Grade One when they taught, 'Be kind to others' and 'Don't throw hissy fits when life doesn't go exactly as planned'? Maybe you should start watching Sesame Street again, bee-atch." But still, the point is that while I may be a little old to just finally be realizing this, at least I'm catching up. Somewhat. Like a little bit. Snail's pace, if you will.

Awww, me so disappointed. Me and Mr. Snowman wanted to get it on this weekend!

Miss Courty turns over a new leaf. With the help of Smirnoff, that is.