Sunday, December 14, 2008

Let's see what Google Adsense does with THIS.

--Caution: bad language, graphic violence, and mature themes. --

Today was tree day, only Mr Half Soled Boots was feeling a bit unwell, so I ended up taking the kids out to the U-Cut by myself. I took the dog too, for some reason, and ended up dealing with a steaming pile in the middle of the tree lot. Luckily I was carrying a J-Cloth in my pocket and they had a very handy utility ditch running along the edge of the acreage, between their property and the next. You do what you have to do and if it's not in a garbage can, at least it's not either in my coat pocket, or stuck to anyone's shoe.

After 35 minutes trudging around trying to picture all these trees, individually, in my living room, I found a lovely Grand Fir, not too bushy and not too tall. I like my trees to be natural-looking, rather than overly cultured. We marked it with the ribbon provided, and I went back up to the house to get the saw.

At the house I saw a sign that the Douglas Firs were $25, but the Grand Firs were $30. I had exactly $26 in my pocket, but I'm friendly and nice and I'm lugging two cute little girls and an adorable dog, so I liked my chances. I said to Tree Dude, "I found a Grand Fir that'll be perfect, but I didn't realise they were more and I have $26 in my pocket." He ruminated, admired Piper, and then said to me "You can just go get more money and come back for the tree later."

I agreed cordially, put the kids in the car, and drove 500 meters to the garden centre where they had already done the cutting for me and also they take Interac. Scroogy U-Cut Tree Dude can stick his Grand Fir, far as it'll go. Talk about putting the X back in Christmas - he made me wish I hadn't bothered with that utility ditch at all.

So I bought a Doug Fir, lifted it onto the car, tied it down, and drove home. Then I untied it, carried it into the house, checked the height and realised it needed to be about 10 inches shorter. At this point Mr HSB was leaning against the living room wall, drinking coffee and watching me. He remarked, "You'll need to cut that off. You should use the reciprocating saw, it's out in the shed. I think it still has the long blade on it from the summer."

"Yes. Um....can you do it?"

He looked at me curiously. "Why? I'm cold. And you still have your boots and coat on."

"True."

Then he says, "While you're out there, check the trap."

I went out there. It was about -10. I opened the shed and eyed the corner where the trap usually is, and saw this.

I marched back to the house, stood in the doorway and, knowing full well what was coming, announced to Mr HSB, "We got a rat. Want me to deal with it?"

He seemed surprised that I'd ask, and said by way of confirmation, "And try to salvage the trap - it's our last one."

I reached past him and got the camera. He said as I was walking out, "Gonna take a picture of the rat or what?"

"I'm taking pictures," I said, "because the blog is not going to believe what you are making me do." [caution: link is to a yucky dead-rat picture]

I did, after all, manage to salvage the trap. Little Remy didn't bleed at all, so hopefully his cronies will approach the trap without smelling.....well, smelling a rat is what I was going to say.

I reset the thing, trying to be careful, but of course at one point I wiggled the little yellow thing and WHAM. All three fingertips of my right hand. I yelled "OW FUCK" and the only person in the neighbourhood who didn't hear me, apparently, was Mr HSB. He was still calmly sipping coffee in the rocking chair when I slammed back into the house and strode to the bathroom, shouting "WHEN MY FINGERS THAW THAT IS GOING TO HURT SO BAD." He had the decency to follow me in there and look concerned as I disinfected my rapidly swelling hand, as if that makes up for everything else. I was so angry I took a self-portrait so you can see my mad eyebrows. I think I wore this expression for over an hour, judging by the lactic acid buildup in my forehead and cheeks.

And it all just makes me wonder, how much is a sex change operation anyway? Because I might as well get on with it, the hard part's done - all that's left is acquiring the ACTUAL parts and I will officially become what I apparently already am: a man.

Though if I'm a man, I am maybe one of these men, because I can deck a mean hall.

And what does it mean that I am now identifying myself as a gay man trapped in a woman's body? Maybe I should save myself the cost of the surgery and all those pesky drugs and just leave things as they are, if the alternative is going through all that hassle just to be essentially the same as I am now, in charge of all the unpleasant tasks, and sleeping with guys.

Guy.

Hi Mum!

Now I'm having a bit of down time after the rather annoying day. Tomorrow there's this sort of party I've been invited to, for mums and kids, at 9.30 in the morning, so hopefully I'm not too hung over with all the rum and eggnog I'm imbibing at this moment while admiring my glorious Douglas Fir and cradling my former hand in my lap.

At least I can still type.

20 comments:

Dave Hingsburger said...

Now she dons her gay apparel fa la la, la la la la ... what a funny post - although I can appreciate it wasn't funny at the time. And you did deck the hall beautifully - Joe and I have no such talent, neither of us can decorate and we never know what looks good where. Frightful gays we are, we keep expecting the gay police to turn up at our apartment and demand we return our membership cards.

Valerie said...

You have turned lemons to lemonade with this post! I'm sorry for your rotten day. And I thank you for a hilarious start to my week.

Gena said...

Nice mad face! I can't believe you had to do all that yourself. The tree does look lovely, though, so I suppose that's some consolation. Hope the hand is better quickly!

kate said...

Oh, but he was sick. And that means the world had come to end as he knew it, yes? *sarcasm ends now*

If I drank coffee while perusing my morning blogs you would so owe me a new computer right now.

Hope the hand feels better.

Bethro said...

You're the knitter and de-ratter? You have all the gender roles.

Tabatha said...

I love real trees! The natural the better. That is the kind of trees we got when we were kids. Alas, we have a fake tree. We had many of our first Christmases in Vancouver in apartments and we weren't allowed real trees in apartments and we kind of just got used to it.

I love your tree, your mad face and yes, even your rat pictures.

Great post Shan!

Linda said...

Great post! I really appreciate the whole rat-thing. We went through a rat period for awhile. I would set the traps and then go tell DH that there was another victim. He took it from there. But, one day, he wasn't around. Now I had a rat in the trap, but it wasn't dead . . . and it was making these pitiful squeaky sounds. I stood there hoping it would just somehow die and my female Doberman ran over to see what I was staring at. She took one look at said rat, wrapped her big ole jaws around its head and chomp! Two very neat holes in its skull, rat dead, Doberman looking very pleased with herself. I gave her extra treats that day.

Kris said...

I can't believe Mr. HSB lived to tell about it. Tree hunting alone can be excused, but dead rat retrieval. No WAY! Mine wouldn't even think to ask. The dang thing would have stayed there until he dealt with it.

Gwen said...

That's the face that went with the oft-recalled phrases, "No, you CAN'T play with me and Marnie. Go away or I'm telling Mom."

Brenda said...

Shannon, your post has made my day!!!!! I can completely see the same thing happening here, and in fact have been not so pleased with the cranky male species hanging around my house! Thanks for the best blog entry I've seen in a long time anywhere!!!

Susie Hewer said...

ROFLMAO! I have to deal with dead rats too as they die in the barn and that's my territory (apparently the garage is hubby's territory).

mel said...

That's what you get for being such a self-sufficient woman Shan ;) And wooo, that is one good mad face. I would run.

I can't wait til Tad & I move to the country, this is most certainly what I have to look forward to (to be fair, he does an awful lot of dirty work - he just seems to have an unfailing confidence in my ability to take care of things - which in a way, is quite flattering. Except when I don't wannna!)

Ames said...

I think you put that warning just so you would not lose your PG-13 rating. It has been pretty docile around here lately.

Night Owl said...

Hi Shan,
I know I'm not supposed to laugh at this, but it's worth all the guilt! This post really made my day. :) (And it was a crappy day, so it was much needed, so THANK YOU!)
I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. I'm glad it wasn't me! I am not good with dead creatures - I would not even kill a spider!
Your tree looks beautiful though!
And your angry face is hilarious, and also beautiful. :) (It was meant to be hilarious, right?) You must teach me how to have a good angry face too! (I need one of those in my arsenal.)
I hope your fingers heal quickly! :(
Love,
Night Owl

lizbon said...

Oh my fucking god.

Say what you will about Boywich, he never once made me deal with our little visitors from Rodentia. Even though they'd already been cornered and/or killed by the resident felines.

He even killed the big spiders in the bathroom for me. (And don't I miss him, sometimes, when I am battling those hellacious cockroaches...)

Shan said...

Gwen, all this time I've been working on my frown, refining my expression and honing my chiseled lips, and I still look exactly the same as I did when I was 12?

Linda, we had a live one once. I had to drown it in a bucket of rainwater. Its horrible tail kept curling around my (gloved) wrist while it lashed in the silent and desperate throes of death. Ew.

NightOwl, thank you: you were meant to laugh, indeed. The face was 100% genuine, though...I didn't even have to change my expression. And thanks for your comment - I subscribed to your blog by the way...

carlarey said...

I think I am married to your husband's spiritual twin.

Joan said...

Carlarey, not "twin", "triplet" (ask me how I know...)

knititch said...

and i think i am a single gay man living in a woman's body. i wonder if that is a good or a bad thing???

what a day. rats makes me sick. they make me shiver.

Anonymous said...

Mr.HSB sounds like my Dad. As I recall, it was my mother who fixed the leaky toilet, unclogged the sinks and disposed of dead rodents (pets and otherwise). He mowed the lawn and made a killer barbequed burger, so it all evened out in the end.

Despite their flaws, we love them anyway. They have their uses ;)))

(Says she who is married to a man who must dipose of the deat rats because she is standing on the kitchen chair until it's gone).

Alison