Merry Christmas and happy other holidays, everyone!

(A picture of the kitties and us will hopefully be here later. For now, prepping for the next few days/hours of craziness must ensue).

With lots of additional love from ^..^ & ^..^


Canadian revenge:

This idiot's been parked at the end of our driveway for a few days. There's been an overnight parking ban in effect. I think most of this is the plow, but I don't think the DB made too much of an effort to avoid piling snow on his car as he shovelled our driveway.

I'm thinking of printing out the overnight parking regulations and leaving them on his windshield, just to rub it in a little.


Normally I don't care much at all about celebrities, but this is pretty upsetting:

Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's.


Another from the archives:

Awhile ago, my cats picked up the odd and temporary habit of leaving my condoms lying around my apartment. I have a box that sits on my nightstand, because I'm classy like that, and I guess they just fished out the ones they liked, placed them in strategic locations, and then got bored and washed their butts for awhile.

I wasn't sure if it was intended as a hint or not, but I plan on now giving those condoms to people I dislike. Consider yourselves warned, I guess.

I went out dancing awhile ago in honour of my internet stalker friend, and along came DB, his cousin, and a friend of theirs, the Cuban. Now, I've always known I'm a cranky old lady, but this outing really just cemented it, and if you're willing to bear with me, I'll tell you why.

Many months ago, when I was dating the French boy, we went out dancing with some of his friends, and I was vaguely shocked and amused to see the way in which dancing is used by so many people as a prelude to mating – it was never more apparent to me that dancing really is the human equivalent of the mating dance. And in some ways, that’s fine, I get it – it’s genuinely nice to date a guy who’s a good dancer, and especially one who doesn’t mind being out on the dance floor.

But I don’t need and don’t want to see you going after your partner’s spleen with your tongue, performing public breast examinations, giving someone a handjob, or even grinding so heavily I’m worried you’re going to get pregnant while I watch.

Yeah, I’m old and cranky that way. The DB likes to accuse me of being an exhibitionist, which is a total crock. Certainly, I will kiss him in public, we hold hands, and we’ll cuddle in front of others, but that’s as far as I’m comfortable going where other people might be subjected to it. I’m not vain enough to think the world finds me attractive, and much as porn is fun, that doesn’t mean I assume everyone wants to be privy to the real-life version.

As you can probably tell, I’m also not a voyeur.

The dance bar we were at this time happened to be occupied by a frosh crawl, so it’s entirely possible we hit it on a really bad night, but seeing all the babies grinding against one another like they just discovered a new trick made me wonder – do you all live at home? Don’t some of you at least live in a dorm, where you can do this in private and I don’t have to watch it?

I mean sure, I’ve had public sex and variations on foolings around, but I was at least courteous enough to do it someplace where we were at least marginally protected from being discovered. I don’t get a rush out of the risk – it was a convenience thing. And I guess in part a bit of a story thing; it’s fun to be able to say you’ve tagged a particular location.

I have friends I’ve spoken to in the past about their exhibitionist tendencies, and without using as many words, the result was that I asked them to basically stop what they were doing when I was around. I consider it a courtesy and respect issue; if I really want to see your partner’s body parts, I’ll request to see them – I prefer not to have them foist upon me, as it were, or to have to watch you exploring one another’s mouths in front of me.
I’m going to write something that’s going to come off as extremely arrogant, and there really doesn’t seem to be a better way to express it.

I’m a relatively intelligent person. This has its advantages and disadvantages, one of the chief among them being that sometimes, I smart myself out of doing things – like fad diets (for the most part; I did try South Beach for two weeks), or other potentially self-destructive actions.

One of these self-destructive actions happens to be passive-aggressive behaviour. It’s interesting when I can see myself contemplating something that I recognize to be passive-aggressive, and having to fight the urge to follow through with it. Sometimes, I’m successful – other times, I give in, even when I know the whole time that it’s stupid.

I know this would be more exciting with examples, but the best I can really do is something like not talking to someone because I’m mad at them, or doing something deliberately to upset someone – I really don’t have anything juicy to relate at this moment, unfortunately. It’s just something that came up recently where I was irrationally upset with the DB for something likely stupid and didn’t really speak to him for a few hours as a result. As a general rule, I will speak up when something upsets me, because I don’t want to let frustrations fester, and this is a behaviour I’ve been practicing for a number of years.

Other times, I bottle things up (hello, work!), and then get annoyed to pieces except when I vent to other coworkers. Case in point? If my boss announces to anyone one more time that I’m going to be the next person on our floor who’s pregnant (although that’s already passed, so hah!), I’m going to tell her… I don’t know what. One coworker said that I should tell her to stay out of my vajayjay, which then became my vajenjen. *sigh* I want to tell her that I/the DB is sterile, that we’re against children, that he’s Catholic and so doesn’t believe in sex before marriage… my mom pointed out that most religions are the same way, but I told her that since I’m not religious that it doesn’t really carry the same weight. Maybe I’ll just tell her I’m not having kids until after I’m married; given that she and her husband aren’t actually married (and she generally avoids calling him her husband as a consequence), maybe that’ll get her off the subject.

In other news, I’m actually completely and totally done my Christmas shopping. I’ve given my aunt the gifts for the Nova Scotia branch of the family, my mom has the gifts for my New Brunswick relatives (i.e., my nanny), the family gifts are at my parents’ place, and everything is purchased for the DB and his folks. I still have to finish the scarf for his mom, and I’d like to knit up something for his brother and sister-in-law, but that’s really it. If you’d like to receive a Christmas card (I have to mail out *something* on the 24th, after all!), feel free to contact me via email (litterboxjen at yahoo dot ca) to get a card. I have a selection of cat cards, and this year’s new acquisition (and theme, it seems): penguin cards. Oooh! I promise not to use your mailing address to sign you up for anything *too* awful.


I haven't the faintest what I did on Saturday, but I borked my ankle something nice. It looks fine, but feels horrid -- keeping it elevated is about the only thing that keeps it from aching (and even that, not all the time), and trying to straighten it or turn it to the side sucks. *sigh*

What did I do on Saturday? I got up at 10, ran around getting myself ready, had a massage for an hour, then went home and played video games all afternoon. Granted, I'm incompetent enough that I can get a sliver from dried chocolate, but seriously, a borked-out ankle from sitting on a couch all afternoon? It's about time to give up on my body, 'cause I think it's thrown in the towel.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about various relationship-related issues over the last few days. I had dinner with the AB the other night; it was the first time we'd seen each other in about 8 months. Oddly... the evening went fairly well, but it's left me with various memories and other thoughts over the last few days. Good memories, but... hrm.

Several months ago, the DB had a dream that I was cheating on him, and it bothered him when he woke up. Understandable; I've had some crappy dreams myself. Well, sometime last week, I had a dream that he was being hard-core pursued by a nursing student, who hated me because I was with him -- and he was considering leaving me for her (which he told me in the dream). Often when I wake up, he wakes up too, and so I shared this dream with him. His response? "Only one? Nursing students always travel in packs of four." Yeah, we have different methods of reassuring each other. :P

Although, to be honest, I'm the one regularly sticking my foot in my mouth. I had a cold last week, and now the DB's dealing with it. Coincidentally, the AB has a cold as well -- so I told DB last night that if it made him feel better, the AB had a cold too, and I was claiming responsibility. Apparently, telling your boyfriend that you're claiming responsibility for an ex-boyfriend's cold isn't all that reassuring. Who knew?

I have to admit, I'm impressed with myself a bit this year. I've managed to finish pretty much all of my Christmas shopping, and I spent time yesterday wrapping everything. I still have to pick up a gift card for the DB's father, finish the scarf I'm working on for the DB's mom, and get some keychains for my uncle, but I'm miles ahead of where I normally am this time of year. Many of the gifts that I'm giving people came from the two craft shows I went to (including the citrus sea salt that I bought for the DB and gave to him early). I don't feel that I have any real "wow" gift for the DB, but I'm just going to have to accept that I might not find something of the sort -- especially since he's being no help whatsoever for ideas ("I don't want anything; save the money you'd spend on my gift for our trip"). Ah well.

In other news, work is driving me insane, bit by bit. I make a practice of not discussing work on my blog so as to minimize any kinds of problems, but let's just drop one big hint that sort of summarizes things: one of my coworkers (who pulls shit like this daily), went into my boss' office, crying, because she disagreed with how I'd placed commas and hyphens in a document that she had originated and I'd edited for web-posting/completeness.

Oh, how I wish I were kidding... god, some days I seriously miss retail.


It takes a special person to give themselves a splinter from dried chocolate.

Fortunately for me, I am that special person.