I woke up nervous and antsy, after having dreamed of a Romney/Ryan win and a subsequent dystopian future. I usually recall between 2 and 3 dreams each night, and every dream I remember having has been in full colour, this one was the first in black, white and shades in between. Obviously I support Obama. This shouldn’t surprise anyone; I’m Canadian, Canadians right across the board support Obama.

I peeked in at the pseudo news throughout the day, useless, and finally just kept reruns of the Golden Girls going in the background. The Princess of course turned the bobblehead chatter on as soon as he came home, he brought pizza with him, I was too nervous to cook! The numbers started coming in, too early to be meaningful so I wandered away – too much anxiety for little ol’ me.

I texted with my sister and friends in Canadian, all of us on edge. Americans don’t realise the impact of their elections on their neighbours and the world at large. Canadian’s in particular feel the results and future implications almost as keenly as Americans.

It started to look good, but would Romney concede? Would there be recounts? Would it end in a timely manner? Could I actually breathe again? And then he did, and there wouldn’t, and it did, and I did! And wow! We won!!!

And isn’t that the funny thing? Texts and emails started arriving, not just from Americans, but from my Canadian cohorts, from a friend in Paris, and others speckled across the globe: “We won!”

Last year The Princess and I were in Paris during hurricane Irene. By the time we returned a few days had already passed, the refrigerator had already gone rotten, the items in the freezer were already unfrozen though ice cold, and the downed trees in our driveway had already been moved. The power had been out for days and it took a few more days before it returned. The first night was probably the worst because we had been on an airplane for 7 hours, then in a car for 2 and were eagerly awaiting a long shower and a good poop. Instead I spent an hour emptying out the refrigerator and BBQing steaks. Still, not the worst thing to return to. The house had only minor damage, our neighbours moved our outdoor breakables, and one of our friends had hurried over before the storm, presciently moving the cars from their usual parking spot – the trees that came down would have crushed them both had they not been moved. The first dark nights were fun and romantic – candles, banding together, and just when we were getting annoyed with the whole situation the power was back.

Hurricane Sandy was different. We were here to tune in to the ongoing warnings, the Franenstorm! chatter, the panic. We were around to pick up the phone when the city robocalled with an evacuation notice – we’re near but not in the mandatory evacuation area. We were here to consider our distance from the water and be reassured that we weren’t at risk from it, then wander around the house and determine which trees might fall and what part of the house would be endangered. All seemed well, so we filled up the bathtubs (we have well water which requires an electric pump), charged our phones and laptops and back up batteries, brought everything we could indoors and battened down the rest.

Around noon on Monday we went for a walk down the street from us, down being the operative word.

Beautiful stream?

Or flooded road?

Remember, these were taken before the storm officially even touched down.

The crying.

I don’t know how lesbian couples get through this. Girls – women – ladies – FEMALES cry. We just do. It isn’t about weakness or sensitivity, or manipulation (most of the time). It’s just how we’re wired to deal with extreme emotion. When the Princess and I argue, there are enough tears involved that the threshold point is already near. Swap the Princess out with a woman and the crying limit is breached far too early into the argument for the hidden, underlying issues to be addressed, much less resolved.

When the Princess and I clash, it’s usually a bit into the argument that we figure out what we’re really upset about, and this tends to be where my tears show up. The Princess usually doesn’t get weepy until we’re wrapping up the resolution. If he started crying when I did, the whole thing would get stupid far too soon to be useful and we’d have to delay and reschedule the end game. Totally inefficient. It would drive me nuts.

Unless I’m just not meeting the right lesbians, it doesn’t seem like they cry any less than hetero women. How do they get anything done in a relationship? Write each other letters? Argue via email? Texting?

I realise that I am in the minority on this one, but Ryan Gosling doesn’t really do it for me. I’m not referring to his ability as an actor or the quality of his movies, I couldn’t really comment on either. He’s just a bit more puppy dog than I like in a man. Alright that was slightly beside the point, but written as a preface so I can avoid looking like a fan girl for someone I’m not a fan girl for.

Here’s the point:

I suspect that Ryan Gosling got bullied as a kid. Often. Possibly daily. And I wonder how many of those same bullies now have to take their wives/girlfriends to Ryan Gosling movies just so they can get laid that night.

The Princess and I have been together for something like, a dozen years? Nope, eleven years, we’re in our twelfth. We’re a pretty lovey dovey couple, but we’re continually stumped by obligatory romantic occasions. For at least the last eight years, we’ll reach February before one of us remembers that our “anniversary” has past. Then a couple weeks later he wakes up with a start exclaiming,

“Crap! It’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow!”

Which leads us to the realisation that today is Valentine’s Day. Tomorrow everyone will want to hear how the oooiest gooiest couple they know marked the occasion, and we’ll disappoint them yet again. Really, by now they should expect this. Granted, when we tell people that we just stayed in, I think it’s received with a bit of a saucy wink.

I’m pretty sure we’ve never done anything for our anniversary (though this year we decided to try to do something next time), and we’ve done at least two Valentine’s Days. Once we went out for dinner in Toronto – I don’t remember the restaurant, but it was fancy and expensive. The food was good, but we were seated next to a bizarre couple. The guy was so Japanese maffia (figuratively), and he spent the entire dinner snapping at various people on his two cell phones, and checking his pager (this was long enough ago that people still used pagers). The woman was wearing something like six grand worth of clothes (including her shoes and bag), and maybe another grand in jewellery. She didn’t seem to notice that her boyfriend spoke just one sentence to her the entire meal. The other time – also in Toronto, we had both forgotten VDay, but the Princess bought me a really awesome motorcycle jacket, so we decided to call it a Valentine’s present. It didn’t fit my gangling arms, but I was able to have it altered.

So what’s up for tonight? Well, we’re staying in.