The Lifespan of a Fly


We Meet Again… Netflix
October 21, 2011, 1:17 PM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , ,

So we finally got ourselves Netflix. Actually, we didn’t. My mom gave me her account and password and insisted that we try it out and see how we like it. After years of deciding which torrents to download, and planning their download time around your regular life. iI’s sort of neat to be able to browse through hundreds of titles, most of which were movies you wanted to see but not badly enough to pay for them of their own accord.

Which has led us to a new dilemma. The Wii remote blinks schizophrenically at us while we’re trying to make a decision. It blinks like that because we’re always out of batteries and are left instead to scrounge them from other remote controls, alarm clocks, smoke detectors and other valuable life-saving necessities. We could go buy more, but it’s probably not going to happen any time soon.

So now it’s October, and October is the month where I watch a year’s worth of horror movies and serial killer flicks in tandem.

So I watch one serial killer movie! One! Now it keeps recommending “Ed’s Top Ten” filled with brutal violence. Which is cool, cause I like brutal violence in movies and all, but it’s my parents’ account! And I don’t live with them!

I can just see it now, Ma and Pa, sitting at home about to watch some sort of culturally shocking, or heartwarming movie. Ma moves in for the cuddle and Pa’s big arm rests on her shoulder as she nestles into him.

AND THEN BLAM! In their face is flashed movies where dudes pop out girls’ eyes, or some mad German (why are they always German?) scientist is sticking three people together to make a fecal-fuelled centipede. Which, by the way, probably wouldn’t work with the whole e-coli thing.

So now poor old Ma and Pa must face the cruel reality of their daughter’s interests. No, no. It wasn’t anything to do with the way you raised me! I swear! No, no. It wasn’t because you sent me to overnight summer camp and I got lice! I… I…. I just like it.

A system had to be created. A system that was unbreakable, and convinced my parents that my emotional hard wiring was A-OK. It’s devious, it’s clever and it’s all mine. My secret to defeating Netflix is simple:

All Dogs Go To Heaven.

Clears up those genius suggestions in no time.



Hold Your Questions Please!
September 22, 2011, 1:33 PM
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You know what bugs me? Ok, ok a lot of things bug me, but you know what really drives me batshit? Questions. Not questions like “What are you going to make for dinner?” or “Do you want to watch The Shining or Halloween?” but questions that just aren’t anyone’s damned business. For the first six years of our relationship, Mike and I dreaded going to weddings. Short of the booze and bad music, you just knew some distant family member was going to corner you and go “So, when are you two going to tie the knot?” *wink wink* and you’d have to smile and think of some lame excuse like “Oh, it’s not really a priority to us right now”, when what you’re truly thinking are things like “Get lost old bag” or “Who is this person talking to me?”

Well, it gets worse after you get married. People assume that now you’re married you’re just dying to procreate. As if you’ve really been waiting seven years until marriage, because a child out-of-wedlock is a sin…and other bullcrap.

They also assume you want lots and lots and lots of little you’s running around, screaming, eating candy and taking turns crying and pooping. Now, please don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike kids. But to be fair, I don’t like very many kids either. So this whole “kids” thing? Yeah, I’m thinking about it. It seems kind of cool. I’d like my life to have more meaning then the things we want to do, and well, to be honest, kids have cool toys.

So you answer something like, “Yeah, maybe in a few years we’ll have a baby. Just one though”. Well, that starts off this whole new thing. The family member (whose name you can’t remember and relation you’re skeptical of) starts in on the whole “Just one? Oh, wow. If it were me I would have just had oodles of little babies. I just love their little cheeks and the way they smell”.

Look, I’m thinking about it ok? I don’t really want to commit to a whole slew of kids. That’s like saying “You know, you may as well give me all the BMW’s in the lot, since I like luxury vehicles a whole bunch”. I’m ok with just the one. You know? See how it works out and stuff. Then maybe… maybe I’ll have another one.

Besides, babies are like these perfect, clean little people. They’re canvasses for parents to fill with colours and paint in little personalities. And guaranteed us adults are gonna fuck them up. So I wonder to myself, how many little people do I want to screw up? Cause I’m gonna. So if I only screw up one person, does that mean I’ve mitigated the damages?

I don’t know, this is a lot of pressure.

Is there anywhere I can rent a kid for a bit and see how I do?



Mike on The Rise of the Planet of the Apes
August 31, 2011, 7:10 AM
Filed under: Bad Movies For Everyone, Generalizations | Tags: , , , , ,

Hey, did I tell you we finally got married? Just as a side note, best part of being married? Having a team name. That’s right, every time Mike and I leave a party we prepare our friends for our departure by declaring “Arts Roll Out!” Apparently our friends are very un-clever because they seem to ignore the hilarity of the situation.

So, back to the blog post. The big movie fans we are, and the big sci-fi fan I am, there was no way I wasn’t going to see The Rise of the Planet of the Apes. We purchased our tickets and browsed around West Edmonton Mall until our showtime. During this idle browsing period, Mike informed me that he had never actually seen Planet of the Apes. Who hasn’t ever seen Planet of the Apes? Like, seriously? What is wrong with your upbringing? Are you broken? But the tickets were bought, and even though he was now going to wreck the original for himself, I didn’t think we could easily sneak into Fright Night due to the 3D and us not having appropriately stolen 3D glasses in the past and saved them up for last-minute movie-ditching. So we were going.

This isn’t a review blog, so I’m not going to review The Rise of the Planet of the Apes, but I will state that I quite enjoyed it. James Franco is a wonderful actor and since I don’t find him attractive, I must actually believe that. So the credits are rolling and the Artses are rolling out of the theatre when the following occurs:

Mike: That was really good. I like how they left it open for a sequel. They are gonna have a sequel right?
Tannis: Yes, and we can watch it tomorrow if you’d like. It’s called Planet of the Apes.

Totally should have snuck into Fright Night and just squinted a lot. When we have children, you can count of me pumping them full of essential cultural influences. Seriously though, who hasn’t seen Planet of the Apes? Oh the tragedy.



You Have Been Un-Friended
August 30, 2011, 2:42 PM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Normally I’ll do a substantive Facebook clean up where people from elementary school and people you meet at parties and have pictures of you get erased. However, this all-encompassing attitude towards a Facebook cleanse isn’t working out for me. Therefore, I am now setting guidelines which will determine on an individual basis who I will be deleting from Facebook. Since this blog is linked to my profile, I expect that those who read this will either delete me first, or follow my new rules.

1. If you update your status more than 5 times a day, you shall be un-friended. If your life is that interesting I beg you to please start keeping a journal, use Twitter or go on reality TV and get paid for it.

2. If you post pictures of what you’re eating/will eat/have eaten. It looks yummy to you, to me it looks like a 1975 Company’s Coming cookbook. If you’re not inviting me for dinner, stop inviting me to look at what I’m not invited to eat.

3. OMG!!!. If I see this I assume there must be something so goddamn awesome you can’t even finish your sentence involved. If awesomeness isn’t involved, please stop using this to explain how your cat, Mr. Muffins, ate mothballs yesterday.

4. Pictures of your pedicure. Don’t care, they’re toenails and your feet are callused. Yuck

5. Repeated status updates relating to your job. You’re employed, I’m employed, we don’t do it cause it’s fun. Got it. I don’t care. I don’t know how else to explain it, but I can guarantee no one else cares either. Except for maybe your boss, who would be happy to relieve you of your consistent complaining about your job. He calls it “unemployment”.

This is the beginning of the end. Please continue posting pictures of your vacation, so that I can compare its awesomeness to the awesomeness of my own holiday. Please continue misspelling everything so that my snobbish friends and I can mock your idiocy. Please continue updating your relationship status, bad and good, so that I can currently track who is dating out of their league.

Go forth and create Facebook goodness.

*Note: Sure I can block you on my Newsfeed, but if I don’t want to see your shit, I might as well un-friend you.



An Amicable Conversation with a Drunk and No Pants
June 27, 2011, 7:23 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I still remember the first apartment Mike and I lived in together. It had peeling laminate and windows that could maybe save 1.5 legs if a fire occurred, which they did regularly. That would have to be due to The Gas Pump, a bar from the early seventies located at the bottom of our apartment building. It hasn’t changed since the seventies, including the patrons who have since grown harsher as the years have passed. Every night the shouts and screams of middle-aged drunks in the midst of their mating rituals floated up and into our bedroom, lulling us to sleep. The sounds of sirens would wake us up as yet another fire was started, either by the drunks of by the homeless people who would sleep in our stairwells and light fires to stay warm. Mike and I would look at each other, debate how much we wanted to stand outside in January weather, at 2 a.m., in our pajamas and instead decide to just go back to sleep. Six months later we moved.

That was seven years ago, and finally, the patrons of the Gas Pump have found us. Actually, it was the ghetto that found us. Sure, it’s unlikely you’re going to be pumped full of ammunition in my neighbourhood (although it has happened), but try to cross the street without meeting a gangster (15 years old and pissed off that Mom took his PS3 away), or having your bottles stolen by the multitudes of bottle people.

I have a bat, and it has pointy edges, and I practiced hitting intruders with it. I don’t want to kill someone, just maim them.

So anyhow, we’ve got new neighbours. That’s right, the Crackheads next door moved out (and by moved out I mean trashed the place and abandoned it), but it’s all good because they’ve been replaced by drunks. I sorta miss the Crackheads though. At least they hid out in their condo and smoked crack and I could only hear them yelling and screaming through the vents. The drunks have taken this to a whole new level.

I have to give them some credit though, they are more apt at yard work then the prisoners on day release whose only job it is to cut our lawn, when they come, which is next to never. The drunks are all about keeping a nice and tidy lawn. So much so that they’ve decided that 4 a.m. is a wonderful time to mow their 8’x10′ lawn with one of those push mowers from before electricity became a household item.

Granted it is nice and cool out at 4 a.m., but none the less, we needed to have a chat. I explained to one of the drunks (and I believe I’ll have to explain it to the other 10 that seems to sort of live there) that 4 a.m. isn’t exactly a “neighbourly” time to be shouting and boozing it up. I think our chat went very well, it definitely progressed after I asked him “You are drunk right now, aren’t you?” A question he could not deny, only confirm with a sad nod of his head.

Regardless, I think he and I may have reached an understanding: He shuts up after midnight, we get along wonderfully. He makes noise after midnight, I phone the police, his landlord and the condo board until they eventually remove him and he’s got to move back into his mother’s nursing home.

I think we’ve reached an agreement, but I wasn’t wearing any pants during this heart-to-heart. That may have had something to do with it.



My Fanny Pack Can Beat Up Your Fanny Pack
June 15, 2011, 8:33 AM
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

That’s right, I have a fanny pack. Now before you start snickering behind your hand, please understand that this is no ordinary fanny pack. J accused me of fanny-packing and began comparing me to her father who regularly dressed up to meet her looking like a redneck janitor (this is Alberta, we’ve seen our share of them). I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly clear the air about my fanny pack vs. regular lame fanny packs.

First, let’s get a few things straight.

The Fanny Pack was carefully created by Tibetan monks to be used in all sorts of survival situations. It boasts a front pocket, which many would think should be used to house credit cards and a few bucks for beach time fun. This is wrong! Seemingly innocent, the pocket is meant to house things like grappling hooks, trail mix, pointy knives, extra ammunition and garlic (vampires), for those times when you just have to go out and kick nature in her sharp, pointy teeth. There is no beach time fun involved here.

The Fanny Pack also has a holder for your water bottle. Many would assume this is so you can hike with ease and delicately finger wildflowers while feeding chipmunks your trail mix. This is also wrong! The true purpose is to keep your hands free for Yeti fights, which one regularly runs into out in the wilderness. Yetis are impermeable, surviving against even the strongest blade. Their only weakness is their eyes, where your fingers must jab and jab until they explode in a cloud of purple smoke (this is science, don’t argue with me).

Last, but not least….

STFU J. I’m not gonna carry your goddamn chapstick if you make fun of my fanny pack again.



The Anti-Bucket List
June 10, 2011, 7:39 AM
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A few years ago, on our flight home from Italy, Mike and I watched the Bucket List. Not together, cause that would be sort of weird with those little headphones they used to supply you with (Air Canada is a bunch of pricks) and you just know the person before you had some contagious ear disease and for three hours all you can think of is “I can feel it crawling into my brains… oh God my brains”. Anyhow, we took bets on who among our fellow passengers would start crying. Mike cried, proving he has the soul of a lamb. I didn’t, proving I have the soul of the lion who would destroy that lamb.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wait, shit, where was I? Ah yes, the spawning of the Anti-Bucket List. Since I’m never going to die (and if by some change I do, it will be in a fiery spectacular form which will awe all the little children out of their candy), having a bucket list seems pretty pointless. So I’ve created a list of thing I never want to do before my inevitable immortal reign (with Skynet’s help of course).

The Anti-Bucket List
1. I never want to go to Australia – There are spiders that eat birds, which are the size of your face. Therefore, able to eat your face.
2. I never want to watch an episode of The Big Bang Theory and laugh.
3. Play hide-n-seek with God (that bastard cheats).
4. Be the middleman in the Human Centipede.
5. Own a cat.
6. Eat real Chinese food – not this ginger beef shit.
7. Move back to Ontario.
8. Admit that I know how to fix almost any photocopier.
9. Listen to WSPA people who stand on corners and try to convince me hunting is bad – at least that’s what I think they want.
10. Plummet to the Earth at top speed and hope my parachute opens – commonly known as Sky Diving.
11. Buy a Coach purse.
12. Pretend that golf, tennis or bowling is an actual sport.
13. Watch golf, tennis or bowling on television and be interested.
14. Stop brushing my teeth.
15. Cheer for a hockey team just because they’re “Canadian”, although most of their players are European. Yes Vancouver, I’m looking at you.
16. Go camping with the Donner Party.
17. Watch another Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
18. Be a “Furry” – whatever the fuck that is, it sounds pretty weird.
19. Pretend CSI is deeply insightful and actually has a legitimate story line.
20. Give up on finding the Island in LOST – it exists, and I will find it.
21. Care about MSG and how much water I’m drinking in a day.
22. Take myself too seriously.
23. Spend more time worrying about the people who will never like me then I do with the ones who love me.
24. Give up the belief that magic is real and so is Harry Potter.
25. Stop dancing like I don’t care who is watching.