Van Halen’s Mascot is a House Sheep

At this point, if you’ve been with me for awhile, it’s probably no secret that I married a bit of a rock star. If you’re just joining the readership (which has grown exponentially in the past few days — THANK YOU!!!), then I’ll fill you in here and here.

Either way, the story I’m about to tell is wild.

After the fateful night at Bogey’s Pub (referenced above), Steve started attending band practices, with his co-worker/David Lee Roth counterpart, on Sunday afternoons. Because, as we all know, the Sabbath day was created to be kept holy and wholly rockin’.
He would usually leave the house around 3 and come back in time for dinner and relaxing with me before the busy work week started again. But two days ago, everything changed.

David Lee Roth threw BBQ ribs into the mix, inviting me to come along, to eat and be groupies with his girlfriend. I was so in.

We headed out around 6. I’d never been to David Lee Roth’s house before, but by the time we got there, I was truly lost. Langley City is crammed with houses, townhouses, apartments and the like, but outside of it, there’s just acreage after acreage with ranchers and mansions and grids of endless streets. If there is such a thing as the “middle of nowhere” in the city, this was it.

DL Roth lives on a farm with a fancy gate, and since he wasn’t home yet by the time we got there, we waited outside for awhile. This is where the legendary Keith Urban/Miranda Lambert/Don Henley/Anastasia soundtrack mash-up would come to be born.

Finally, everyone showed up and we were let inside the gate. My jaw dropped. There was a pond with ducks on it, while goats and sheep roamed freely in the yard. It was such a call-back to my childhood that I experienced rosy-eyed nostalgia for a brief moment.

And then I entered the house.

Soon, it became clear that I was in a den of porn and horror.

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Only a BB gun, I realize now, but it was HEAVY and had a SCOPE. We could still be murdered with it.

 

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The real David Lee Roth being sexual in the corner.

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Nice Victorian portrait, right?

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Tilt your head to the right and think again.

Of course, I don’t have pictures of the actual porn, but let’s just say that the phrase “graduating magna cum laude” is a punchline I don’t ever want to see again…

So yeah. This is where my husband goes on Sunday afternoons. Not weird at all.

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60% hardcore, 30% terrified, 10% I don’t even know.

Here’s the thing though: once I realized that I wasn’t going to die here, these people were really interesting, and I wouldn’t hesitate to hang out with them again. They’ve all taken way too many substances, but they have stories. In many cases, it was that they survived to tell the tale.

Like the bass player who was in Hyder, Alaska in 1991 (where my mom is hiding out from the Apocalypse, ya’ll) for his 23rd birthday, got drunk, stole a horse, got bucked off, and then had someone stop by in a truck and say, “If that was my horse, I’d shoot YOU too!” before peeling out.

Or David Lee Roth’s girlfriend, whose son died in a car accident 9 years ago, and she still feels like it happened yesterday.

Or David Lee Roth himself, being told “Hey man, love your voice!” by Gene Simmons, or doing a floor-laying job on Hastings Street in downtown Vancouver and having the floor cave in beneath him to reveal two skeletons. Not bodies, skeletons. And it’s still not known how they got there.

Steve and I laughed, gave each other weird looks, and ate an ungodly amount of BBQ ribs at 10pm like teenagers.

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Shit shit shit. Mushrooms on my blog, mushrooms on my blog. Must…cleanse…

 

And, of course, there was rock and roll.

 

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The only porn I need.

But WAIT. I am saving the best part for last.

After we ate the ribs and jammed and packed up the gear, I met someone.

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This…is Eve.

Eve is the house sheep.

I repeat: The Van Halen Porn Farm has a HOUSE SHEEP.

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She eats, in the house.

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She makes Steve feel uncomfortable, in the house.

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She baa’s majestically during selfies because she is precious and perfect, in the house.

So basically, from now on, my Sunday afternoons are booked. No shame in my Sabbath game, friends!

What’s the weirdest house you’ve ever been in? If you could have any house creature, what would it be? Did I write the word “porn” too much today?

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Marching Onward!

So who knew March Madness was a real thing? I certainly didn’t. And in the honour of this being my 100TH BLOG POST (!!!!!) I will share little blips of everything that has been truly Madness-ing over here. Vignettes, you might call them. But trust me when I say there’s no basketball involved whatsoever.

PRE-DESOLATION OF STEVE:

ONE. I made a shirt. I made a SHIRT.

Like, I took 2 old holey shirts and put them together to make a NEW shirt, with nothing but scissors, cross-stitching thread, needles, and my imagination. It’s survived the laundry machines twice now, so I guess my work was pretty legit.

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My mother is so proud, she’s ready to open my very own Etsy business.

TWO. I am mastering the Katniss braid.

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Thank you, Pinterest. I’m feeling pretty confident about moving on to knitting the drool-inducing Katniss shawl now. #not

THREE. Steve taught little people how to ukulele, and they were all, “I love you, Mr. Steve!”, and it was enough to squeeze my heart into a million leetle Lego pieces.

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That super sexy man kneeling on the floor is mine and you can’t have him.

FOUR. Walter met Keyboard Cat.

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As a result, it made him very introspective about his own life and where it was headed.

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FIVE. We found a Lighthouse, and it took every ounce of my self-control to NOT hop over all of the government fences trying to keep me out of it.

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There was even an eagle, and everything was perfect.

SIX. My doula cards came in the mail,

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and my months-long dream of having Frozen in my possession came true.

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SEVEN. Toilet paper went on sale.

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EIGHT. We joined a Motown band! I have no picture proof yet, but believe me, it’s happening.
Some dear Catholic friends of ours know of an elementary school with a desperate need for a gym, so a fundraising event called “Night At the Apollo” has been formed, and our band has an hour-long set. We’re pretty excited, because, as it turns out, it actually IS possible to team up with people who have different backgrounds than you do in order to make good stuff happen for kids. (I’m lookin’ at chu, WorldVision.)

Also, I’m excited simply because, after all this time, my inner Aretha and outer Diana Ross (at least when it comes to hair) will get a chance to shine as I sing R.E.S.P.E.C.T. and I Say A Little Prayer For You in a little black dress. Ohhhhh, picture proof is COMING.

POST-DESOLATION OF STEVE:

NINE. We are the worst car-jackers in the world.

On Monday night, I got invited over to Laura’s house to watching Catching Fire. I was excited because I so needed a JHutch/JLaw fix.

Steve, being too tired to join us, walked me out to my car. Steve, being too tired to join us, promptly locked my purse, my phone and both sets of my keys INSIDE my car.

We weren’t worried. It’s happened before (although maybe not exactly like that), and if worse came to worst, we had BCAA, which would get us a free unlocking from a tow truck.

First, he tried screwdrivers to pick the lock. And then Allen keys. And then there was talk of breaking the lock and him replacing it for me. And then I checked our closet and it had ONE wire hanger for us to decimate.

I must also include the fact that we are doing this in broad daylight, by the main road – not secluded in our own driveway. Anyone who doesn’t know that this is my car would think we are stealing it, and it is prime time for everyone in the neighbourhood to be coming home from work.

We got double-takes, triple-takes, slow downs, but ultimately were completely ignored and left to our car-jacking in peace. People these days!

For 25 minutes, I stood there, putting pressure on a screwdriver to separate the rubber lining of my car door so that Steve could snake the wire hanger through the space. Since my car is from 1994, there are no lock latches, just plastic stubs that push up and down manually, so most of our work was spent manually trying to figure out the physics of the angle we needed to make a hook that would apply enough pressure to lift the lock.

It was all very complicated. BUT. WE. DID IT!!! Without arguing or getting annoyed with each other. We’ve SO got this “being married” thing down.

TEN. I have officially been dubbed The Evil Galactic Babysitter from the planet Ookgukshuknar7DANGEROUS.

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At least, that’s what I’ve been told by a quartet of boys who belong to my pastors.

I’ll be honest: I don’t know how to play with boys. I did not grow up with any, at all. I like superhero movies, and that’s about it. So, during Spring Break, I have been responsible for entertaining 3 Calvins + a Hobbes, and “superhero movie” is exactly what happens. I make them dress up in costumes a la Iron Man and Wolverine, and then I film them attacking each other on my iPhone. Sometimes, they make me the villain. All the times, they can’t wait  to see themselves on the screen.

I hear things. Strange, strange things.

“But I’m ALLERGIC to water! I’m the only person in the world who will die if I drink it!”
“This might sound weird but…my wife is bigger than me.”
“Lie of the liger, sing lie of the liger!” “Sing Eye of the Tiger?” “YEAH LIE OF THE LIGER!!!!!”

But on Tuesday, my strength of character was tested beyond anything I have EVER faced:

I. BUILT. A. SAFARI. JEEP.

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They coloured it, I put on the Lion King soundtrack to psych myself up, and then I cut all the pieces out and somehow attached each piece together like a 3-D puzzle of torture with NO instructions – just the help of the oldest boy. And THEN I let them bring up all their stuffies, and they created houses out of lamps and bookshelves and blankets for each one of them because when you go on African Safari, you don’t just go on African Safari — YOU GO ON AFRICAN SAFARI. WITH ELTON JOHN. AND SIMBA AND TIMON AND PUMBAA. AND YOU TALK ABOUT MUFASA’S DEATH BECAUSE IT STILL HURTS YOU INSIDE AND YOU FIELD QUESTIONS LIKE, “IF MUFASA WENT TO HEAVEN WHEN HE DIED, DID SCAR GO TO HELL WHEN HE DIED?” LIKE A PRO BECAUSE MUFASA TOLD YOU TO “REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE” AND YOU ARE THE Evil Galactic Babysitter from the planet Ookgukshuknar7DANGEROUS AND YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.

ELEVEN. I don’t mean to sound like an obnoxious hipster, but Jillette Johnson and Wakey!Wakey! are quite amazing, but maybe you’ve never heard of them.

Honestly, we’d never really heard of them either, but thanks to some awesome people named Kim & Kyle, we were treated to this concert at the Media Club in Vancouver.

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(Favourite Performances: Cameron, Creep, Peter Pan, True North — but all of it was amazing.)

After her show, I went up to her and said, “I sincerely hope that there is a baby in my tummy right now, just so that your concert can be the first concert they ever heard.” And then we shared a hug and a little tear and everything was magical.

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(Favourite Performances: War Sweater, Square Peg Round Hole & Almost Everything.)

Like, this music is all the Buttons are listening to lately, and our lives are so much better for it.

TWELVE. We have been invaded by ants, and nothing is okay.

I spent all day yesterday in downtown Vancouver, and last night I came home with takeout dinner to discover our house has been turned upside down by none other than Steve and his dad.

Now, let me back up for a sec.

We’ve had weird things happen in our house before. That’s because it’s basically a two-car garage that was converted into a living space, and its entire legality has not been verified.

When I say “converted”, I say it in the sense like, “Yes, he found the Lord, but every once in awhile, on a bad day, he’ll go back down to the street corner to get another hit of that sweet, sweet crack cocaine because nobody’s perfect.”

Sometimes, the roof leaks when it rains really hard. After we were away for 2 weeks during Christmas holidays, we came home to find a snail living in our couch, and he’d made a journey worthy of Middle Earth in the meantime.

ImageAnd now, apparently, the ants have found a hole in our wall. Steve first noticed them when Walter started doing the Macarena, the Nae-Nae AND the Harlem Shake in an attempt to get them off of him. (No, Steve did not film this for me, because obviously HE does not want us to be internet famous!!! *weeps* )
Everything that was on the floor is off the floor, nothing is in its proper place, and I feel a little lost. (I guess that basically describes an actual garage.) As I’ve sat here typing in the past two hours, I’ve had to squish TWO ants that thought it would be okay to waltz across my computer screen.

The upside?  Our motivation for Spring Cleaning has been super, super, SUPER re-located.

So there you have it. March 2014, and my 100th blogging post. It’s been a pretty good time.

I’m so ready for blossoms and camping and being Aretha and some life-changing Spring. What are you ready for?

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” — John Ruskin.