Category Archives: A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Commentary, Narcissism - One Woman's True Story of Marriage to a Narcissist

The Narcissist’s Piano, and Other Foolishness

May 2, 2017 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 8 Comments

I found this in my search terms: narcissist piano. I did the mental equivalent of shifting from one foot to the other while I mulled that over. What does it mean??? Is it a typo? Is the searcher wondering if pianists are narcissists? Is that an actual type of piano?

I mean, this is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night.

So I did what anyone would do and googled it. At first, google stared stupidly at me. Then it coughed up narcissistic jazz, narcissistic piano bench and Ryan O’Neal.

Who knew?

Does Ryan O’Neal play narcissistic jazz while sitting on a narcissistic piano bench? Is Ryan O’Neal a narcissist? Or is it just his piano? Nope. I think that might be Billy Joel. (Get it? Nudge nudge. Just me and my old piano?)

This is so confusing. Is it an alien piano? It grew up on Mars eating Matt Damon’s poop potatoes?

Oh – I know! It’s a zombie piano. The lid opens and it takes a big drooly bite out of your sheet music.

And I couldn’t find my blog on that google search either so I have no idea why the narcissistic piano wound up in my terms.

Justin Trudeau, our PM. I just thought I would throw him in. Better than a narcissist piano and better looking, too. I think. Because I have no idea what a narcissist piano looks like.

The word piano means soft.

And narcissists aren’t soft. Not unless it gets them something. And then they’re hard.

Could the searcher have been looking for something like “narcissists who are soft” and since his first language is Italian, and he’s just learning English, it came out as narcissist piano?

Maybe I’m going a little far with that one …

My ex-narcissist played the piano.

Apparently he would have been Mozart’s doppelganger if he’d had the right breaks in life.

Or something pretentious like that.

I arranged for the piano tuner to come by and spiff up my piano so that the narcissist could play it. It had been in storage but I got it out for him because naturally, the narcissist didn’t have a piano of his own. Most doppelganger Mozarts don’t have their own pianos. True. It’s a fact.

When I came home from work, the narcissist told me that the piano was done. As in finished. Kaput. Toast. Ready for the big dirt nap.

The tuner had told him that the sound board was crumbling to bits. The carpenter ants were coming to take it away.

Then, a few months later, the narcissist asked me for a new piano. I briefly considered it but then decided not to. My financials were feeling the strain of being married to a doppelganger Mozart.

Later, after I had divorced him, I checked the piano myself. It has some little cracks, but everything I’ve read says that this is not a big issue. It sounds okay.

Hummm. I think the narcissist just wanted a new piano.

So there you have it. If someone else googles narcissist piano, there will be an answer.

And a cute picture of Justin Trudeau.

What do you think it means?

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Happy Holidays!, Reblogs

Fruitcake, Anyone???

Dec 30, 2016 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 8 Comments

At this time of year, there’s always a fight with the fruitcake gods … or whatever, so I dug up this old piece 😉 from three years ago.

In the Net! - Pictures and Stories of Life

I have an uneasy relationship with fruitcakes.

You know, the stuff you eat. Well, I suppose you eat it. I mean, from what I’ve heard, no one eats it. It gets shoved into the back of some cupboard, or into the corner of a freezer, and there it stays until is discovered, like an Indiana Jones artifact. You have to dig it out with a pick.

And by then, it will have acquired the density of a hockey puck.

But my questions is, if so many people hate it, why does it keep showing up on store shelves? Somebody must be buying this dreck.

And what about the people who make them?

If you stop and think about it, there’s an awful lot of fruitcake around at this time of the year, and if you can find one person who says he or she likes it, then you’re farther…

View original post 399 more words

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Commentary, Milestones

Changing, Moving, Growing

Oct 13, 2015 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 21 Comments

When I realized that change was headed my way, I didn’t realize that it was going to be this intense.

In July, we sold our house in preparation for a move next year. We packed up all our stuff and trucked it to a rental. I whined about that a couple of posts ago.

However, life is not always orderly nor predictable (nor should it be). In late August, the opportunity for a great job came up. I interviewed, and a couple of days later I accepted their offer.

The job was 1000 km. away in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. Wine country. Some of the best wine in the world.

Real wine.

I was on my way west (even though I’m not a young man) inside of a week with my car packed to the rafters, my poor Rudy dog parked in a kennel and my dear M left on the prairies to finish up a work contract.

Now I live near all those wine grape vines you see in the top photo.

After finding a long-stay motel to reside in and starting my new job on August 31, I immediately got sick. Go figure.

There was sniffing, snorting, blowing and wheezing. A cough that came out of my bootlaces. A jackhammer headache that doubled in intensity every time I coughed. Aches and pains in my muscles that could have been caused by digging the equivalent of the English Channel tunnel but weren’t. I sounded like a four-pack-a-day, 60-year smoker. If I laughed, I broke into a cough. Sneezing turned into a chain of mini-eruptions with attendant lava flow. I was feverishly hot and cold at the same time.

And through it all, I kept working. New job and all that. I was the queen of hand sanitizer, giant tissues and elbow coughing.

Then it started to go away.

I started to feel better.

I started to get cocky. I’m like that.

Then I started to feel really, really bad. I woke up one morning feeling like I needed to get the bolt in my neck tightened.

Which would have been all fine if my name had been Frankenstein.

But it’s not.

I decided to investigate by taking a look in the bathroom mirror.

I looked like I was wearing a turtleneck sweater with an inflation device inserted into the neck part.

The side of my neck was swollen from my ear to my shoulder and the pain that accompanied it was intense. My tonsils were swollen. My ear ached and crackled. I could hear everything inside my mouth but nothing outside.

A secondary infection had taken up residence. Yum.

It’s still not gone but I’m about to start my second round of antibiotics, for which I am eternally (and internally) grateful.

Nevertheless Continue reading Changing, Moving, Growing →

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Commentary

Jitter All the Way

May 1, 2015 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 21 Comments

I’m not a morning person, but even if I was, I would still love coffee. Strong coffee. Turkish coffee. Arabic coffee. Cafe mocha. To me, coffee has all the nuance and complexity of a good wine.

Unless it’s plonk coffee.

And I know that this is some sort of national heresy, but when I think plonk, Tim Horton’s springs to mind. Well, it doesn’t spring. Their coffee has all the kick of grandpa’s walker.

Coffee is one of the best times of the day, even if it does mean that I’m propped up somewhere instead of sleeping.

Coffee has done a lot for me, too. For one thing, it has kept me awake enough to be employed. For another, it’s probably saved me from countless charges of road rage and the like.

Without coffee, I’d be unemployed and in jail. It’s amazing what coffee can do.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become sensitive to it. Which is weird, because it seems like everything else is desensitizing. I don’t see as well. I don’t hear as well. Calories arrive and take up permanent residence anywhere they can find a squat. I consider it to be a good day if I don’t wake up to another sag.

It used to be that coffee would never keep me awake, no matter what time I drank it. Then I couldn’t drink it in the evenings. Then I noticed that the afternoons were problematic. Then I noticed that it could make me a little shaky. Drinking coffee all day became a thing of the past.

Mornings, though. Those were sacrosanct.

So this morning while sitting at work, I noticed a slight tremor in my hands. I also felt a little jittery. As I reached for my coffee, I realized that I was consuming my fourth large cup. Could my hands and the coffee be related???

My cup holds a quarter of a litre.

Oh oh. Was I on my way to drinking a litre of coffee a morning??? Oi.

I thought about it. I thought, I don’t usually drink this much coffee.

Then I thought, yes I do.

Shit.

And no, I don’t mean poo-poop-de-do civet coffee, either.

However.

I’m not giving up coffee. I’ll cut back, but I’m not giving it up.

While I was thinking about it, I decided that there’s some other stuff I’m not giving up.

Chocolate.

Steak.

Red wine.

Maybe the odd cigar.

You’ll have to pry this stuff from my cold shaking hands.

Well okay, okay. Maybe I will have to sort of give it up at some time.

But never completely.

What will you never give up?

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Narcissism - One Woman's True Story of Marriage to a Narcissist

Yop Narci Signs

Jan 20, 2015 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 12 Comments

So I found this in my search terms, along with “narcissist bullshitter” and “the narcissist cookbook.” Could be something funny here – do you think?

Are narcissists bullshitters? Do they bullshit about cooking? Or are they busy cooking up bullshit? With Yop yogourt? Yuck. Now there’s an unattractive visual. Maybe the searcher was looking for Gordon Ramsay’s cookbook.

My ex-narcissist was the biggest bullshitter when it came to his cooking abilities. And everything else. But when it came to recipes for the narcissistic line, he was yops, er, tops.

What recipes would The Narcissist Cookbook contain? Let’s take a quick stroll through a potential table of contents.

1. Appetiser – The “I love you because you’re perfect” Smoked Oysters.

2. Pasta – The “I can’t live without you, precious” Farfalle with Creamy Truffles.

3. Meat – The “I really need a quick loan and will pay you right back” well done flank steak.

4. Fish – The “will you marry me” Cedar-Planked Salmon with Arugula Salad.

5. Palate Cleanser – The “you’re such an annoying person but anyway will you buy this suit for me” Eye-Watering Lemon Sorbet.

6. Dessert – The “I’ve fallen out of love with you but you still need to buy these tires for my car” Curdled Creme Brulee.

7. Cheese Plate – The “I know you want a divorce but you’re gonna have to pay me” Squishy Grape and Smelly Rotten Cheese Platter.

8. Very Expensive Civet Coffee with Petit fours.

9. Free-at-last Digestive (recipe not included in cookbook but necessary in order to recover from meal-induced heartburn. Don’t worry. It goes away.)

10. (Next day) Tummy-soothing Oatmeal with Brown Sugar, best consumed with good friend.

Do you have any recipes to add? 🙂

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath

21 Things I Irrationally Love

Apr 4, 2014 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 22 Comments

This post has been prompted by the wonderful Aussa Lorens who in turn got this idea from the equally wonderful Samara. Check out the 21 things that they irrationally love as well as their funny, irreverent, witty and flat-out amazing posts about all sorts of things.

So, without further ado, the 21 things that I irrationally love:

1. Red. I love red. Red shoes. Red pillows. Red cars. Red scarves. Red jackets. Red airplanes. Fun red is always good red.

2. Chocolate (and Nutella!). Whither thou goest, chocolate. When I do without it for a while I appreciate it even more. 🙂

3. Star Trek, et. al. Crazy about it, ever since I was a child. But not the last series, the one with Scott Bakula in it. With that crew, it sort of went from being deliberately campy/cheesy to just being kind of dumb.

4. Fast cars. I would love to own a Mustang. Sigh.

5. Pasta. With almost any kind of sauce. I sometimes dream about pasta. The ultimate comfort food.

6. Red wine. And not because it’s red, because I like white wines, too. But red wine – well, what can I say? Yum! Especially the wines of British Columbia’s Okanagan valley.

7. Steak. Especially with red wine. With a side of pasta. And a brownie for dessert? Yesss! (Have you noticed how a lot of this is about food?)

8. Airplanes. Love those, too. In fact, am completely passionate about them. Which works out really well because I’m a pilot.

9. Ocean beaches. Love ’em. Love walking on them. Sitting on them. Digging in them … and also love the

10. Ocean. Make that any ocean.

11. Cigars. I used to occasionally smoke them, but not any more. Still love the smell, though.

12. Laughing like a mad fool at stuff that other people think is rather lame.

13. Original Craftsman houses. Especially the red brick ones. They have character, they have personality, they have charm.

14. Fine line pens. Black. I really dislike having to use anything else.

15. Jacuzzi tubs. Not the outdoor hot tubs. The indoor ones.

16. Scarves. I’m not very talented at tying them, but I love them!

17. Italy. I adore all things Italian, not just their pasta and red wine. 🙂

18. Ireland. What a great country!

19. Countries that start with “I.” (Just kidding.) 🙂 Handmade pottery. I’m actually a little potty about pottery.

20. Museums. I love ’em.

21. Art galleries. Love these, too.

What are some of your irrational loves? Are you willing to do a post? Would love to read other “21” lists!

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath

A Resolution By Any Other Name Is Still a Resolution

Jan 5, 2014 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 21 Comments

I don’t really do new year’s resolutions. Sometimes, I’m definitely tempted, but I know what will happen – nothing.

I’m one of those people who has to be ready to do or not do whatever it is; an arbitrary due date that forces me into trying to change some awful behaviour or other will only result in failure, at least for me.

It’s much better for me to think about what I won’t do rather than about what I will do. At the very least, it’s the kind of whimsical bullshit that puts me to sleep at night, so it does accomplish something.

As a result, I have created the list that none of you has been waiting for – the top ten things that I resolve to not do. I can now bask in the rationalization that sometimes, making new year’s commitments is very hassle-free.

1. Go parachuting. The only way I would do this is if the airplane is on fire and James Bond is not available to rescue me.

2. Pierce a body part. I pierced my ears when I was 17. That was enough. Starting a personal relationship with Hitler would be more attractive.

3. Get a tattoo. That whole fad is starting to get ridiculous, especially among the oldsters, who are making themselves look older by trying to appear younger. If you ain’t where you are baby, you’re nowhere, and that particularly applies to age.

4. Join Facebook, again. If you want to see narcissism in action, Facebook is the place to go. The oneupmanship/mea culpa crap is nauseating. The idea that we want to know your every move and your every lame thought – well, don’t strain yourself. I don’t need to know that it burns when you pee. Just quietly visit a doctor and quietly inform the source of your “Burnin’ Love.” Otherwise, this information is not important, and neither are you. In fact, I would rather eat a bug than read your stuff.

5. Eat a bug. I’m not planning on joining a reality tv series situated in some remote jungle where the only food sources are bugs, eyeballs and leftover toenails. Or something else that’s equally gross.

6. Enjoy shopping for a new bathing suit. Now, those of you who “know” me know that I hate shopping. Shopping for a bathing suit? Stuffing a pine cone up my nose would be an easier task.

7. Climb Mt. Everest. I gave up backpacks when I left the army. Ditto tents, cold beans and ropes. Doing that same crap in -50 while the wind is howling and you’re about to run out of air sounds about as logical as performing brain surgery with a pair of pliers. Just because “it’s there” doesn’t mean you have to do it. Cars are “there.” I don’t jump in front of them to see if their brakes are working.

8. Start eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. M calls this stuff “the dirty bird.” That is descriptive, isn’t it?

9. Open my own shoe store. I only like comfortable shoes and hate it when my feet hurt. I would never try to make people feel like they have to wear the crap that supposedly keeps them “fashionable.” Have you noticed those shoes that make a woman’s foot look like a hoof? Giant ugly platforms with squared toes that especially on petite women, call to mind Henry VIII’s armour. The feet, not the codpiece. Anyway, I’m relieved to see that they are starting to wane.

10. Run for public office. I don’t think that I’m suitable. Really. I’m not narcissistic enough, deluded enough, disrespectful enough or suffering from megalomania enough. Now, if only the rest of the world would listen to me. After all, I have all the answers. And remember, it doesn’t matter how you get there, only that you do.

See, that was easy, wasn’t it? Do you have a list of stuff you know you won’t do? Share your thoughts, please!

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Commentary

New Year’s Come for Company Project

Dec 30, 2013 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 4 Comments

So this year, I’m going to be participating in Rule of Stupid’s rather suggestively named Come for Company project (RoS just can’t help himself!) where bloggers can support other bloggers who are maybe feeling left out at this time of year. He ran it last year and this year – with Rarasaur hosting – as “Company for Christmas”, but has since decided to do an expansion, an awesome idea! 🙂

Anyway, I think I signed up. Technologically, I’m not the brightest knife in the drawer. Er, sharpest bulb in the drawer … knife in the socket? Whatever. You know what I mean. The lights might be on, but there’s no knives in the drawer.

Nevertheless, drop by, take a look, decide if you would like to volunteer or maybe you would like to participate.

It’s a great idea! 🙂

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath, Commentary

Fruitcake, Anyone???

Dec 28, 2013 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 22 Comments

I have an uneasy relationship with fruitcakes.

And by then, it will have acquired the density of a hockey puck.

But my questions is, if so many people hate it, why does it keep showing up on store shelves? Somebody must be buying this dreck.

And what about the people who make them?

If you stop and think about it, there’s an awful lot of fruitcake around at this time of the year, and if you can find one person who says he or she likes it, then you’re farther ahead than me, my friend.

My mother used to make fruitcakes. She would start in September so that they would age properly.

“Age” properly??? I don’t get it. They are the only thing on the face of the planet that doesn’t age.

If Armageddon were to occur tomorrow, the only thing left would be fruitcake. It would be a sea of fruitcake. You would have to elbow the fruitcake out of the way. Every fruitcake that everyone in the world has ever been hoarding would float to the surface, bobbing there like little brown pontoon boats.

Sorry. I just had to have a mini-rant.

Anyway. Once she had made them, she would store them in cake tins and every couple of days, she would take them out and paint them with rum.

Now, I’m half French. And I was raised mostly around my French relatives. And to me, and them, the whole fruitcake thing was a complete mystery. Why would you put this lurid neon fruit that you would never eat by itself for fear of contracting a dread disease, into a pan of perfectly good batter, leave it for months, douse it in rum, and then oooh and ahhh over it?

I suppose it had to be doused in rum. That was the only thing stopping it from getting up and walking out and starting its own colony.

Anyhow, once it emerged from hiding, my mother would spend the rest of the holiday coaxing, cajoling and ordering people to eat it.

I mean, I know that there used to be a time when fruit had to be preserved and anything sweet, especially at Christmas, was a delicacy.

But my goodness! We aren’t eating hard tack any more, so what’s with the fruitcakes?

And those blanched nuts on top of it. Yikes! The word “blanched” says it all.

To me, a fruitcake should be made with real fruit, dried or fresh, and not that stuff that has survived a nuclear winter. And if you want to add some real nuts, that’s good, too. I’d be happy to try some fruitcake that has been made with real ingredients.

What about you? Are you a secret lover of fruitcakes? Do you feel that fruitcakes have been unfairly targeted by discriminatory forces? What is your fruitcake opinion?

I’d be delighted to hear from you.

A Little Laugh Turneth Away Wrath

Finally, a Post!

Dec 20, 2013 Lynette d'Arty-Cross 12 Comments

It’s been a while since I did a post!

That’s because I’ve had waaaay too much to do and just trying to keep up with my reader has been difficult.

So here’s what I’ve been doing:

– completing courses that will lead to a major career change. I have a break coming up but I have to study for a big test. Sob.

– working, and right now it’s crazy at work although the end is in sight.

-getting ready for Christmas – and ready to explode because of it.

-shovelling snow. Actually, no. M has been doing that. It’s made me swear a lot, though. The snow, not M.

-whining about snow. Yes, that would be true.

-whining about the cold. Yup. Actually, maybe I should explode. At least that would be warm. And, isn’t this time of year supposed to generate warmth around my heart cockles? What are cockles, anyway? If I didn’t know better, I would say that they’re teeny tiny c***s.

-whining about having to dodge snowbanks while out in the cold on my way to the mall. Yay.

– whining about being overworked and tired. Check.

– whining about hearing “The Little Drummer Boy” for the 1, 274, 451 st time. If I catch him, I’m going to shove those drum sticks down his weird little throat. He should be playing computer games, not following babies and playing his drum for them.

– whining about that creepy little oaf, er, elf, who keeps trailing people around the mall and squawking at them in a high-pitched voice to buy stuff.

-whining. Really, the only whine I want comes out of a bottle. The whine that comes out of me is boring. But I have to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be me.

And I gotta be me. Who else would want the job?

What delicious pre-Christmas things have you been up to?