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One a day for almost a year nets some good shit.
I like these ones best.

Thursday, June 26, 2008 at 8:46pm
The one where I love my Husband

In a few days it will have been one great chewy, gooey year of being Mrs. Nuv Takhar. (Did you know that the toughest hoop I had to jump through name-change wise was through Facebook? They were very suspicious that I joined the brown side)

I was asked at my surprise party the other night (SO BORING! Fuck you guys again for all that hoopla and love) what the first year is "really like." Quite honestly, in our case, it was hands down cruel and unusual. Once we got back from our delicious jaunt of a Honeymoon, God squatted down, and took a concentrative diarrhea squirt on our faces.

Nuv came back to no job (Thanks Library Strike! Kisses!) I continued doing Foster Work, which paid like a mofo, but kept me away for 4 day stretches and ensured Nuv would have to learn how to work a microwave.

We couldn't find a place to buy with our lease running out, so we moved into yet another rental. There are dogs here so I can deal.

The two women that helped raise us (Biji for him, Gramma Henderson for me) died within four days of each other, in different cities, sandwiching my 30th birthday. So we held each other the best we could long distance, him shouldering the grief in his Mom's basement alone and me sitting in a Hospice in Surrey with pictures of my niece on my cell phone the only thing making me smile, for just a second.It was too fast, too fucking soon, and something we're still adjusting to.

I switched jobs which took a tad longer than expected. Like nearly a month went by while my resumes were laughed at or burnt or ignored by the thousands of companies I emailed. Nuv absorbed all my neglected financial responsibilities like a man. I could never thank him enough. (Bonus- I'm pretty sure I was a raging bitch to him at times, which is so shameful looking back. I owe him like 12 Dodge Challengers now)

Now, I'm going back to school and the Government, after careful thought, is giving me the whopping sum of $3,000 for the first two semesters. Righty-o pencil pushers! See you in welfare city! So, the future holds more strife and burden for my dear dear dude and he has never made me feel bad about this.

I do believe the best thing about this year was watching my Nuv become the greatest Husband I could ever hope for. He only wants me to succeed in everything I do, and pushes me so hard to get my shit right and rock out this life of mine. I love this man. So, SO much.

It's the little things that will get you in the gut. Right now, he is passed out in his purple chair and ottoman and I could wet myself he looks so cute.The way his toothbrush has little teeny toothmarks on it and the bristles are nearly smashed flat because evidently he brushes his teeth like the Hulk. His legs in jeans. His spiffy shoe collection. His pure joy at tea time after Dinner.

We have gone through fire this year and sometimes I wonder why on Earth he is still beside me, holding my hand, with all of my assorted shenanigans. It must be the sweet sweet lovin.' I love you sweetness. Happy Anniversary.

Love, Your Girl


Friday, July 4, 2008 at 12:20am
The One Where I Blather On About Our Anniversary Weekend

Ignoring the screaming of our wallets, we decided to book the Honeymoon Suite at the Delta again to re-experience the room one year later. Minus the sheer exhaustion, arm-aching ordeal of removing 87 bobby pins out of my head and sore faces from smiling in approximately 27 million photos.

The room is worth its weight in loonies because of one thing alone-Private Deck with Private Hot Tub. Where we privately soaked till we drowned our pores, privately BOTH smoked our heads on the same overhanging roof thingie (which made the craziest loudest 'Bang!' but after ensuring my jaw was still attached to my face, slowly realized it didn't hurt at all) and privately drank our free champagne (Thanks Andrea!) and used all the towels like the heathens we are.

Food was, as usual, an annoying shitshow for me. It started promisingly enough with our late afternoon snack in the bar. Nestled in a 8 seater booth by ourselves, we ordered fun appetizers (seared bread chunks dunked in gloop and fish lollipops for him; messy, buttery, slippery, far too much effort for the pitiful reward crab legs for me) and drinks that sounded fuckin A awesome on the menu, and the alcohol content was generous, but the mint juleps looked like and tasted like grass cuttings in sugar water, and the lemon drops weren't tart enough. Later in the evening, we ordered room service and the only gluten free item was 3 scoops of melon sorbet for $89.99, but, Zazing!, it was heaven in tiny little fruity bursts. I believe the flavors were grapefruit/watermelon, honeydew/cilantro and cantaloupe/vanilla bean. I am so cranking up the Snoopy Sno-Cone machine this weekend and making some icy boldness.

When we weren't floating in our big bubbling bath of ahhhh, Nuv went online and I started 'Skinema' by Chris Nieratko. Given to me by Jackie Lark, it's published by Vice Magazine and I'm sorry but I don't know if I can finish it. Much like Vice Magazine, it's filthy, over the top, poorly written at times and details the adventures of a sex fiend asshole. Ordinarily, this is right up Brooke Alley, but I found myself putting it down occasionally to take deep breaths and gaze out over the water and watch the tourists throw things into the water, anything just normal and happy happening.

The next morning we'd arranged for a late checkout and we slept like dead zombies in that King Sized beauty. Till about 8 AM. Across the Harbor, a cover band decided it was high time to crank the volume up to 11 and start this Canada Day off with some shitty covers of the shittiest Canadian rock alive. It burrowed through the windows, the heavy curtains, and even my orange industrial ear plugs. 8 AM people. If life is a highway, kind sirs, I'd like to run you over many times with my tank. I don't think it's very patriotic to rock out at that hour, period.

As awesome as I am at bellyaching, I enjoyed every second with my lovely man, away from the worry, the strife and poop of real life. If only for a night.

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