Miscommunication

Sometimes we say things and, even though we say them correctly, they aren't heard that way. When you live with someone, you're bound to experience some form of miscommunication. I try to enunciate and speak loudly, but there are times I get lazy and a mumble comes out. If all else fails, I have been known to get my point across with dancing, wild gesticulations, and exaggerated facial expressions.

Still, there are times when the Sidekick and I are not on the same page.

Here is one of those occasions.

It was a hot and balmy evening last July and I sat in the groove of the couch where my bum fit so perfectly because I'd been working diligently to build a nest. My nearly eight month pregnant form hugged a pint of non-dairy ice cream between my thighs and I stared at the television, intently binge watching Call the Midwife. Like any good spouse, I often regaled the goings-on of the show to the Sidekick. Not because he cared but because that's what we do.

We talk at each other about television, sports, music, people and events the other person doesn't really care about but has to listen and respond because that's what a relationship is all about. Listening to crap you don't want to know just because the person telling you is someone you love.

Anyhow, on this such evening, I was thoroughly engrossed in the midwifery, most likely because Chummy was being the chummiest chum , when who should enter the room? The Sidekick.

He comes in and asks, "Which one's Carl?"
"Excuse me," I say, partly because I was so focused on the show but also because I thought I misheard him.
"Which one's Carl?" he repeats.
Of course, I do what anyone would do in this situation, I simply stare at him waiting for more information to which he says, "Carl the Midwife! Which one is Carl?"
Blink. Blink.
"It's Call the Midwife!" I exclaim. "Not Carl!"

And to this day, whenever I need a laugh, I remember how the Sidekick thought I was watching a show about some dude named Carl running around trying to be a midwife.

So, you see. If 'call' can be 'Carl' then surely other words can be masquerading about causing issues where there shouldn't really be one. Suddenly, "Honey, can you grab some peas?" turns into "Honey, can you stab the police?" and we are in a mighty strange predicament.

In the end, always speak clearly and, if possible, write it out on a sign.

My photo-shopping skills are incomparable. 

The Addams Family

It's funny how brains work. An example? 

Last night, I was talking to the Sidekick about the items we brought to the Treasure Shack. There's an online login where you can track the things you're trying to sell through them. For some inexplicable reason, this made me think of The Addams Family, the first movie to be exact. I remembered the scene where Morticia is looking for items to donate to the auction for orphans and seniors. So, I tell the Sidekick about it, laughing because I have always found it incredibly funny, and he's listening, but thinking I'm a little crazy. 

Tonight, we've put the film on, and it is brilliant. 

That might seem like a bold statement, but I stand by it. There are too many laughs to count and the brilliancy is in the details and dialogue, like when Morticia is at the employment office and the subject of Gomez comes up. 

The personnel officer says, "What is he - a loafer? A hopeless layabout? A shiftless dreamer?" 

Morticia replies wistfully, "Not anymore." 

It's solid gold. All of it. The whole movie. We could all take a lesson from the Addams family. They love each other unconditionally, not despite their oddities, but because of them. They don't expect each other to change. And they embrace their weird. They let their freak flags fly ... high! Don't we all have a little macabre in us?  

Also, this movie takes me back to when I was a little kid. I used to rent it all the time. It's one of those films that have withstood the test of time. 

What are some films from your youth that you still love to watch? 

Stop Making Me Uncomfotable

Here's a funny little truth about me, emotional scenes in television shows and movies make me uncomfortable. Not 'oh, this is so bang on I'm squeamish about the truth ringing forth from the scene' and not even 'wow, this is so glaringly terrible and unrealistic I can't even look at the screen'. It's more of an 'I hate emotions' type of feeling. And I'm not even an emotionless drone sent here to crush feelings with my inhumanly strong hands. In reality, I have a vast array of emotions bubbling under this calm, put-together exterior. Once upon a time, I was all about rage, these days I keep company with love and sadness.

This whole crazy world can induce such melancholic feelings if you're paying attention.

But this post isn't about the good or bad in the world, the sunshine and storm clouds, it's about being uncomfortable with emotional outbursts on the big screen. You see, last weekend, we watched the latest Walking Dead episode, the one where Darryl Dixon cries over nothing, and it left me writhing in agony. Before I go any further, let me share with you these three universal Tee truths:

1. I love Norman Reedus and think he is a rather brilliant actor
2. Darryl Dixon is my most favourite character on Walking Dead
3. Emotions make me uncomfortable

Alright, now the Dixon Darlings, what I imagine the Mr. Reedus fan clubbers call themselves, won't tear my throat out when I say I could have done without that episode. Maybe it's because I love a man of mystery and didn't need to know anything more than the rough, badass exterior I'd grown to love. Or maybe it was because watching Darryl break apart, shed that hard as rock exterior, and let loose the raw man emotions he harboured only managed to leave a 'this is mighty awkward' impression on me. Oh, he's done it before, spilled those salty eye droplets, better known as tears, but at least he had a reason. His brother was a zombie and he needed to shoot him in order to stay alive. Talk about a tragic situation right there! Poor, poor Merle. But this time it was almost like Walking Dead was trying to do some character building, which I am not okay with! Just joking, I love character building, but Walking Dead doesn't do those sorts of dirty things. They prefer to keep their characters flat, except Rick, he's all kinds of colourful crazy.

Darryl Dixon's sensitive scene isn't the first flood of feelings that has put me on edge. It happens all the time.

Back in the day, my ex-used to call me cynical because every time there was a proclamation of love in a movie I'd scoff and roll my eyes. It's always the grand gestures that get me or the man breaking their strong, silent habits, all of a sudden going against every fibre of their being and getting verbose about how much they adore the woman who is ready to leave them. Yeah, because men always stand outside your doorway with cards proclaiming their love, or say things like 'you complete me'. Even now, my brow is pinched and I'm smirking wryly.

And don't get me wrong. It isn't just when men do it. You know that scene in Ten Things I Hate About You when Kat reads the poem she wrote about hating but not really hating Patrick? She's all crying and upset and I distinctly remember feeling as if I needed to escape the moment because watching it made me extremely distressed. Even worse, every single time Julia Roberts cries in every single movie. Steel Magnolias, My Best Friend's Wedding, Notting Hill, Pretty Woman, and on and on. I think it's her mouth and the watery misery welling in her Bambi eyes.

Maybe it's because I know they are acting. That it isn't real. It's all fake. And often the scenes are so contrived and ridiculous. Characters going completely against their nature to have these epic emotional episodes. Perhaps that's what makes me uncomfortable, except sometimes emotions in real life make me uncomfortable too. Though, I don't discount them, unless they are over something ridiculous, like a misplaced cellphone. I can totally sympathize with most people and truly am most empathetic for others.

I'm not even going to bother trying to figure it out. After all, it's just a funny little truth about me. Something I noticed and am sharing. I think I just have a bit of Spock in me.

Beastly

Remember that movie adaptation of Beauty and the Beast called Beastly with Alex Pettyfer and Vanessa Hudgens and it was set in High School and Mary-Kate Olsen was the witch who cursed the spoiled rich boy?

Well, this isn't about that film. Though, if I was forced to admit it, I actually kind of liked the movie. It is what it is - teenage tripe. But like Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries, there's something to be enjoyed in the shallow depths of the shiny, pretty things. Even if you don't want to say it aloud, for fear it will be the one fact everyone remembers, it's entertaining.

But, like I said. This isn't about Beastly - the movie. It's about Beastly - the state of mind.

Don't you hate it when you wake up and feel beastly. The beast of all beasts. As if the only fitting task would be to tear apart your west wing, smash all the mirrors and sit there brooding over the fact that no one will ever truly love a beast. Of course it's melodramatic and completely unsubstantiated, but in the moment, you want to just lock up your castle and never see anyone ever again. And, on the off chance someone does stumble upon your dwelling, you will toss them in the dungeon. Ha! That will teach them to sell Girl Guide cookies door-to-door. Give me all the thin mints and get in your cell!

This actually sparks a very questionable query. Why was it okay for the Beast to lock Belle's father in the dungeon? Isn't that some sort of form of kidnapping? Or, at the very least, false imprisonment? I mean, he knocked. He called out. Twice, in fact. Still, down to the dungeons with you, old man! And, if anything, shouldn't the enchanted servants take some of the blame? If not all of them, then at least Lumiere!

I regress.

The beastly days are the hardest. They come without warning, or sometimes with warning because you ate a pound of candy the night before, and they set your day off on the wrong foot. On these days, it is the hardest to look presentable. If you have a job that you work from home or at an office where you don't have to interact with the general public, you can squeak by in comfy pants and a hat, and silently wish for the day to end swiftly. This isn't the case when you engage with others and on the off chance you are SUPPOSED to look at the very least decent, it can be a daunting task. Like putting lipstick on a pig.

It gets even worse too. No matter what I wear, I am uncomfortable. It isn't my clothes, either. It's my skin. I am uncomfortable in my body. So, I try to put a little more effort in on the days I wake up in a self conscious puddle of raw emotions and unrealistic expectations of myself. Honestly, that effort tends not to pay off. I only end up feeling as if my time and energy are wasted. That I am foolish for even trying. That I would have been better off cutting holes in a burlap sack and wearing a Halloween mask.

Yes, I know this seems harsh. And, sure, it probably has something to do with the hormones. I hear estrogen is a wicked bitch. Still, once in a blue moon, these days come along. Like yesterday and, if I am being honest, which I so often insist on doing, I am still feeling residual affects today. Here's the truth of the matter:

No amount of pretty dresses, hair combing or makeup can change a Beastly day into a Belle one.  

Those are the facts. In the end, I just try to fake it until I make it through. Or make it to the weekend so I can wear oversized sweaters and no pants. Whichever comes sooner. Something funny did come of this. I told my Sidekick that I felt beastly and he told me I was, "The most beautiful beast of them all." Yeah, I cry laughed over that. It's hilarious, but still cut me a bit.

Crap, I have to add something I am grateful for on here. Ugh. Well, I am happy I can step back and know my beastly feelings are irrational, to a degree. And that I probably don't look as bad as I think I do.

Breakups

Breakups are like celebrity roasts, except they aren't funny and you aren't famous.