30 October, 2006

hurray for yoghurt (no, really)

you know what i like? i like those strange disjointed thoughts one's mind entertains just at that pre-sleep liminal state. it's like drugs. but free. and legal.

a couple of nights ago as i was lying there faling asleep (and not LAYING either, but lying - one lays something, like an egg, or a purse on a table, or one's head on a pillow, but one lies down, got it? good!) and suddenly found myself repeating "giant black fish balloon, giant black fish balloon" and lo, there it was: a giant black fish balloon, filed with helium (i presume) and bopping gently along a vaguely school-like hallway. it was very large, it was very black, it was shaped like a large cuboidal fish of the aquarium variety (what? i don't know my fish. deal!) and i found it so neat that i woke myself up in the excitement. and because it is very difficult for me to fall asleep, i tried to hypnotize myself back into sleeping by, again, repeating, "giant black fish balloon, giant black fish balloon." i don't know if it worked, but i did eventually fall asleep.

then last saturday, just as i was drifting off, i found myself doing a walk through a hospital, i was a nurse and i went bed to bed, checked the chart, patted the patient and then moved on until i came to a bed in which i saw myself, with some strange machinery on my chest. that was probably the source of the unending supply of phlegm gurgling through my pipes that periodically causes me to erupt in dramatic wheeze-filled cough-fests, like an epileptic asthmatic tubercular professional smoker.

i am off to work. i hate working evenings. i hate working anywhere but downtown. but, like the big girl that i am, i must cope.

29 October, 2006

oh stevedore of my emotional baggage

here is a list of things you are very unlikely to see me do:

1. wear matching shoes and purse (gack!) unless they are black or it is a total accident. i often match socks to my outfit because i have many multihued socks and i find this a fun and healthy challenge. but matching shoes and purse? yuck. nevah!

2. wear skinny jeans

3. expose my navel (not out of any kind of modesty, mind you, but out of the Wobbly Shame That Is My Gut)

4. drive with my forearm resting on the steering wheel. i don't get how this can be considered comfortable. and i have long monkey arms.

5. nap on a regular basis (unless i am deathly ill)

6. pay full price

7. eat wonderbread. why?

8. drink american beer. WHY?

9. fall asleep on my back (physically impossible, i think)

10. burp

11. listen to a country music station

12. eat meat

13. fear the number 13

14. paint my fingernails

15. throw my hands up in the air and wave'em like i just don't care...oh wait, i do tend to do that.

16. pay for parking

28 October, 2006

transfixed by the whole baby monkey thing

i have filled my prescription for some semi-helpful drugs. the "raspberry" cough syrup with codeine i have already described (although i am always confused how a syrup can claim to be simultaneously a cough suppressant AND an expectorant. it's like the bad cop in a movie that hollers at you to shut up and answer the question. huh?) the other little helper that i got is nasonex, an "aqueous nasal spray/SCENT FREE" (and i quote, including the fairly inexplicable capital letters - nasonex, why are you yelling at me? i mean, it's a good thing you are scent free, excuse me, SCENT FREE, since i am to shove you up my nose on a daily basis and all, but must you yell about it? couldn't you be more quiet and ladylike? sheesh!). the best thing about nasonex (aside from its pride of odourlessness) is the set of stickers placed on the bottle by the thoughtful pharmacist. you know, the kind of stickers that feature a loaf of bread, an apple and say "take with food" or the droopy eye of "may cause drowsiness"? the first of these stickers reminds me to "shake gently," and so i do. i shake my booty gently each time i plan to administer the spray. i don't know how it is supposed to help, perhaps it allows all my resident snot to settle or something. the second sticker features a large nose in a circle. it states "for the nose." just in case you wanted to spray your SCENT FREE nasonex in some other orifice, i guess. but then would it matter if it was SCENT FREE?

27 October, 2006

behold! some tremulous meanderings

look! more numbers! with words attached!

1. i took my mandatory annual CPR course the other day. i have to say that silver alien blowjob baby never ceases to instill fear in my loins. what if my (still hypothetical) baby looks like that? would i love little actar? would i cradle its silver plastic body next to my bosom, or would i beat its little plastic head against the side of the table as i tend to do during class (it produces a strangely satisfying hollow thumping sound)? would i patiently change its disposable lungs? would i shop for replacement blue foam vests? at the end of the day would i lovingly remove its head and stick it between its legs before tucking it tenderly in the durable carry bag that it came in?

2. i showed up for work yesterday only to be told that there had been a mix up and i was not needed, so i took this unexpected blessing of a free day and spent a couple of hours sitting in a downtown walk-in medi-clinic trying not to inhale the second hand smoke fumes rising from the clothing of the other patients. why do people have to be such cliches? hey! i am an inner city poor person! enjoy the reek of cigarette smoke and listerine that accompanies my every move! how dull. if i was an inner city poor person i would go out of my way to smell like kippered snacks and cheap bourbon, or bologna and hershey's chocolate syrup. i am forever disappointed by people. look at me - i am a dental hygienist and my socks are never spotlessly white! i am not chipper and perky, and i couldn't care less if you floss or not.

3. my chicago marathon cold is entering its sixth week now. i am tired of the delicately fluttering pile of used tissues that graces our bedside. i am tired of coughing. i am tired of being tired. and i fail to understand why the pharmaceutical giants persist in flavouring their cough syrup. my current flavour du jour is raspberry which, inexplicably, tastes almost identical to yesterday's flavour, cherry. i am a buckley's girl at heart, but alas, they do not have the codeine supercharged version that i currently require.

4. the hunt for the perfect condo continues. the more i see, the more i love our place. guests of ours, you might have to deal with the classy couch-and-floor combo for a while yet.

5. ok, maybe i am a bit of a cliche. i am polish, and our place is currently infused with the aroma of cooking sauerkraut while my fridge smells like garlic pickles. yawn.

6. i met a girl recently whose bangs look like a small intricately curled sausage hanging over her forehead. this makes me wonder about fashion and general self-awareness. does she not realise that at this point in the century few people would be caught dead with a sausage roll bang? and what about those rare girls who still sport the rooster bangs? have they not perused even one fashion magazine in the last several decades? if so, could they have failed to notice the marked absence of both rooster and sausage roll bangs? did they not wonder at this strange phenomenon? i am not saying one needs to be a fashion victim, cause man, that is so sad, pathetic, shallow and painful to observe, but to doggedly continue a fashion trend that lags several decades behind the general populace is just plain odd. i get not caring two hoots about fashion. i don't get getting stuck in a look and taking it way past its due date.

7. it's BAAATH TIME!!!!

23 October, 2006

martha stewart might not live here but, goddamn it, i do!

halloween is almost upon us and you will need to excuse me while i go all martha on your ass.

begin rant: can someone to explain to me why people think that orange garbage bags constitute lawn decoration? because to me? they don't! they are garbage bags. no matter how many of them you place on your lawn in picturesque piles, no matter how they grin in a misguided attempt to impersonate pumpkins, guess what? you have garbage bags on your lawn, loser!
why not buy one goddamn pumpkin and carve it? why not take a bunch of dry branches and put them in a pretty urn that you can pick up for a buck fifty at salvation army? hey, why not just do nothing at all? because anything is better than garbage bags (and baggies) in fluorescent orange lying around lawns. why? because they are ugly, and they show the same kind of aesthetic sense (i.e. none) as inflatable lawn ghosts, and hallmark cut-outs. hey, north america, would it kill you to actually use your creativity and your hands for once and make something from scratch? would it? i think i would prefer a skeleton made from pipe-cleaners, egg cartons, macaroni and sparkles than the prefabricated shitpile of the stunted imagination. and don't get me started on christmas, because this is the year some unsuspecting home owner gets a plastic candle shoved up his boring old ass.

22 October, 2006

girls in white dresses tied up with string

small things that make me happy:

1. foam soap. it takes the work out of washing your hands and it's fun. foam soap, you make me smile whenever i come upon you unexpectedly in a public restroom, admittedly not your typical happy place.

2. crisp, hard apples.

3. mister monkey (not a small thing, but boy, does he ever)

4. our splendiferously ├╝bercomfy bed

5. our bedding, brought to us by the selfless, generous spirit of many many bald ducks

6. juicy fruit red

7. google

8. the colour of my walls

9. flying dreams

10. hippos (they are actually purple! how cool is that?!)

11. looking seriously hot in plaid pants

20 October, 2006

norm (and the other guys)

first of all, imust share with you a dream i had this morning. it was spectacular. it made me want to never wake up again. first of all, i get flying dreams occasionally, but usually they are but a little side note to the main dream. this time the flying was the main attraction. and golly gee whiz wow, it was FUN! i flew over the ocean, (and over a puzzling early morning gathering of bejewelled middle aged women in ball gowns and hairy naked middle aged men, all nursing their drinks and obvious hang-overs in a beautiful beach front mansion), i flew over rivers, i flew and flew, i practised the best ways to gain speed (breaststroke, in case you were wondering) and the best way to change direction. what i want for christmas now is some sort of personal jet propulsion system. it don't have to be purdy, it just has to work. ok? get on it!

second of all, what is the norm? i've been pondering this lately and have come up with this little thought that is hardly original but hey, it's a post-modern world, so originality is not only not required but actually thoroughly unfashionable and therefore considered rude at most happening soirees. please check your originality at the door. i just did.

so - norm. i am, for the most part (one has to work) surrounded by smart, witty, thoughtful, thinking (not the same thing at all!), aware, interesting people so my idea of the norm is somewhat skewed. of course my working hours do give me a reprieve from my little intellectual utopia, but i tend to forget about work as soon as i leave it, and i am far more likely to think about those aforementioned great people who people my life than either my patients or my peppy perky colleagues of the startlingly white socks and brilliant smiles who believe that thinking about the world, about life, about anything other than teeth or their suburban existence is a waste of time, to be faced with a great big smiley-faced "why?". ok, perhaps i am a trifle unfair to the dental profession, but i refuse to take it seriously; there are far more important things in the universe and although i think my job is important, it is not Important. and most of my colleagues do. if they think at all. (once on an office trip to anaheim for a conference i sat reading "the future of life" while everyone else read romance or fluff-fiction. when asked about my book i explained it was a great exploration of biology, botany, environmentalism etc, and was met by blank stares and, i swear to god, this question:"why are you reading it?" to which i replied in a not unsnarky tone, "because i have a brain!").

so, what am i getting at? just the fact that i harbour a strange mix of misanthropy and hopeful belief in the general goodness of human beings. all this varies depending on my hormonal fluctuations, current interpersonal entanglements, the weather, and whether i am hungry or not. right now the sun is shining, i am full of homemade leek soup, we have a new faucet nearly installed, and i think, hot-dog, life is ok. people are ok. everything is ok. (and then BBC world news comes on, and i hear a snippet of the cretinous, inbred slow speech that characterizes the leader of the free world, and it all goes down the drain).

but the point is (and you say, is there a point? could we please get to it already? for once? cause it is pretty unusual for you to have one and all. so get to it. and i say, i will, if you would kindly shut the hell up, mmkay?) the point is this - my norm is not THE norm, as mister monkey routinely reminds me when i recall, say, my highschool years and the fact that most of my friends have one or more degrees, or are successful professionals, or have finished their PhDs and are teaching in various higher learning institutions* etc. the fact that i surround myself with left-leaning, tree-hugging, peacenik, organic neo-hippies does not mean that that is the norm. and while i know that (hey, i'm in the "real world" for several hours most days) i prefer to maintain that my norm is the norm. it makes me feel better. sweet, sweet lies.

*while mr. m's highschool acquaintances are in jail, stealing cars, whoring in vancouver, stripping, dead of an overdose, or just living the kinds of lives that place entirely too much emphasis on the type of car one drives. not all of them, mind you, but if you want unbiased journalism, boy have you come to the wrong place.

18 October, 2006

feisty fifi forswears floral fancies

ok, mini femi-rant here, and men are advised to move on, avert your gaze, read on no more because i know how delicate, bashful and swoony y'all get when the unmentionable gets mentioned, so if you're still reading, don't say i didn't warn ya. but keep some smelling salts handy, just in case.

so. who the fuckity fuck fuck thought it would be a good idea to make feminine hygiene products scented? who? because if i could get my hands on this mangy pussilanimous inbred cretin, i swear there would be violence*. don't even get me started on the whole idea of "the smell down there" because i think it is a misogynistic idiocy perpetrated by the pharmaceutical and/or cosmetic industry (vinegar douche, anyone? for those less than fresh days? grrrrr!!!). but add to that the fact that i am excrutiatingly sensitive to scented products (and people), a fact compounded by the monthlies, and what you have is a problem. to put it mildly, as i am wont to put things.

really and truly, if i wanted my crotchal area to smell like lilies, i would stick a goddamn bouquet up my woohoo. at least it would be natural (in a somewhat unnatural way). i am not particularly pleased with the idea of having the dry heaves every time i sit down to pee. and no, gentle reader, they do not always inform you of their concern for the olfactory impact of your nether regions on the packaging. i think they take it for granted that you do not like your god-given girlaroma, and would prefer a toxic synthetic fumefest in your underpants. which i do not.

bastard fucks!

*violence makes victims of us all. still, sometimes it just feels so damn good to throw a well-deserved punch. or a kick in the nuts. or a jab in the eye. you know what i mean, right? hello? helloooooo?
ahem, like i said. just say no to violence, kids. it hurts the little baby jesus. ahem.


after a lovely albeit filling sushi lunch with my favourite* cousin i popped into save-on-foods (whose clearly unintentionally tongue-in-cheek name never ceases to amaze me - what, do they think we can't count???). after picking up some stuff, i walked out of the store and was brought to a halt by the back of a guy's head. it was stupefying. it really was. it looked like he had a series of little hair squares in blonde and brown stripes glued all over his head. sort of like a really strange anime cubist version of rod stewart on acid. as i got closer i was relieved that this was not his hair but a wig. then my relief gave way to puzzlement. why? why in the name of all the furry creatures of the world would someone don a wig like THAT? it looked like his head was covered in slices of coffee crisp! like the cheapest of those halloween 80's rocker wigs but less...natural looking. there is no amount of male pattern or even diseased spotty baldness that would excuse THAT. even the most putrid scalp condition would be better off covered with a hat, a kerchief, even a styrofoam take-out noodle container, for chrissakes! why, strange guy at save-on-foods, why? you have unsettled me.

*just because someone is your only cousin does not prevent him from simultaneously being your favourite cousin. really.

17 October, 2006

and the beat goes on

last night, being a good wife (at that moment), i dished out mister monkey's dinner. being a vegetarian, i refused to dish out the bird, letting the spouse do it himself. i noticed then, that his face had a less-than-enthusiastic expression on it, but didn't think anything of it until i saw that he had devoured his green beans but left the bird untouched. whassup, says i. well, it turns out that, having been up to his armpits in chicken carcass, mr. m no longer felt like he wanted to actually eat it. are you a vegetarian, says i. no, he responds sadly, i'm just not a THIS-chicketarian.

in other news, the movers called this morning at 8, arrived at 8:59, started to unload our stuff, realised it was not our stuff, talked on the phone with the dispatch for 20 minutes, and then drove off. so much for MY FUCKING DOWN DUVET!!!

they promised to return in 3 hours (apparently our stuff was conveniently lodged in between other people's stuff and so they get their stuff first). there is snow on the ground and, i might have mentioned it, i want my duvet NOW.

16 October, 2006

of free-range chicken and excessive parentheses

we were visiting my family on the weekend and, one thing having led to another, we went home with a frozen organic free range chicken. (which isn't nearly as dirty as it sounds.) now as you well know, i am a lacto-ovo-pesco vegetarian (which, as i explained before, means i can be all morally superior and still eat the stuff i like). mister monkey, on the other hand, is a passive omnivore. by this i mean that he will eat meat, and he will occasionally cook meat, but for the most part he goes along with me. this weekend he got to craving chicken soup. hence the chicken: to make chicken soup (and good god, he makes the bestest chicken soup!) so you could say that this chicken was heaven-sent. (if heaven posted chickens, that is. which, it is my understanding, they do not as a rule. but then if you were god, would you follow rules? i sure as shit wouldn't!) ANYHOW (sometimes i really annoy me), back to the chicken at hand (which, i am told, is worth two in the bush!).

mr. m got fairly detailed instructions from my aunt as to the proper dismembering of said bird (while i stuck my fingers in my ears and sang the smurf song). but we didn't get to the chicken till the following day (and when i say "we" i mean mr. m acting entirely alone), and it was really funny because i sat in the dining room pouding away on the keyboard, and mr. m stood not one metre away from me at the kitchen counter, dismembering the chicken and casting worried glances in my direction. part of the problem was that, as mr. m put it, "look, the chicken ate another chicken!" which was the way he chose to explain the chicken feet (!) and giblets that were stuffed inside the chicken's...ahem...cavity. (i figure it was a chicken mafia hit, but what do i know.) at any rate, mr. m kept standing in such a way that his body shielded the chicken mutilation process from my dainty vegetarian eyes, and if ever i should get up and wonder to the fridge he shuffled along and kept the carcass covered. it was quite funny, actually. and every once in a while he'd call out, "don't look!" it got to the point where i WANTED to see the carnage.

well, short story needlessly long as you have no doubt gotten to expect from me and who am i to fail your expectations, one chicken part was baked with lots of onions and garlic and it smelled heavenly. that is the one strange thing about me (yeah, aha, the ONE strange thing, you say, and i say, shut up or i won't let you play with my barbie collection!). i like the smell of pretty much all cooked meats (except raw-ish beef which smells like used feminine hygiene products and don't go all grossed out on me, cause blood is blood and that's that!) provided they are cooked well. and the baked chicken a la garlique was deeeee-licious smelling. similarly whenever mr. m eats a nice sausage or pork roast, i always ask for a sniff. that's all i require of meat now, just a sniff.

he will make his amazing chicken soup today if he has time post-condo hunting. and maybe, just maybe, i will have some.

the end of the chicken story.

in other news, the movers have been sighted entering the prairies and should bring their donkey cart round tomorrow at 8 am. two words: down duvet. yay!

half baked is the new raw

as i wrote last night's (highly entertaining and informative) entry i was stumped by the candle holder. i actually went on merriam-webster online to double-check. the problem? well, is it just me or does "candle holder" seem to display a profound lack of linguistic imagination? i mean, yes, it is a candle holder, i know what it does, but what is it called? it doesn't seem like the proper name of an item, but the kind of hung-over brain-fart talk that results in gems like "metal pronged thing for eating" and "long white thing for wiping of bum,"etc. and no, it is not a candelabrum. it is a single candle...holder. grrrr.

so that got me thinking about other linguistically stunted words (and you wonder why i can't sleep at night!):
bathtub - oh yes? a tub for bathing. brilliant!
bedroom - a room for a bed? could be, could be...
motorbike - a sort of...motorized bicycle...of sorts.
knife sharpener - hmm, what does this do?

there's plenty more but i don't feel like thinking that hard, having already dealt with banking, retirement savings, home buying and my mother, and it's not even a full-fledged afternoon yet.

15 October, 2006

in which i venture outside my comfort zone and am very shocked indeed

admit it. you are a voyeur. you want to know what i am doing (writing, duh!). you need to know what i am wearing (an orange sweatshirt and beige underpants). and so, in a fit of generosity, tonight i will share a bit of my private life with you. tonight, and tonight only, on my dining room table you will find the following:

1. one yellow plate filled with purple concord grapes which look spectacular, taste delicious, and turn our tongues satanic black. this is good because in the midst of a semi-serious conversation we sporadically turn to each other and stick our tongues out which is good for full minutes of mirth

2. one large bamboo fruit platter filled with 3 green apples, 7 red plums, 8 purple plums, 2 lemons (of the usual hue), 5 limes, 2 peaches, 3 red pears

3. one laptop computer which really shouldn't be here

4. a bundle of real estate papers filled with hugely overpriced properties that attempt to hock style over substance, and as much as i love style, i am not nearly as shallow as i must sometimes seem (though, oddly enough and coincidentally, i am not nearly as deep as i must sometimes seem either, both requiring far more work than i am willing or able to devote to any given direction of self-improvement)

5. a silly little notepad which has absolutely no empty pages in it and we resolutely refuse to recycle in case the cryptic notes and numbers found therein will somehow one day miraculously come to make sense to either one of us. this frightens me a little

6. a calculator, because my brain has been fried to a crisp and i am unable to engage in simple multiplication and/or division (and i was never any good with the 8's and 9's in the multiplication tables, though i may humbly state that i rocked at the 1's and 10's)

7. one metal pear shaped candle holder that i bought in an art gallery in calgary during my brief and lonely sojourn there.

return here tomorrow for the detailed enumerated contents of my underwear drawer.

riiiight.... as if.

our darling monsieur antoine

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12 October, 2006

out, damn spot!

1. as i walked across the high level bridge yesterday, i frightened a spastic looking pigeon which flew madly off, bounced off a wire, landed lopsidedly on the road, and was promptly evicerated by a taxi. i felt rather terrible. what with the quebecois skunk, it makes for two deaths at my hands this year alone...that i know of (she adds portentously). what am i to do?

2. our goodest friend, who hosts our annual turkey weekend gorge-and-drunk-fest, knows i religiously read his blog. poor guy. we descended upon his home on friday night and did not leave until monday afternoon, and he can't even vent his true feelings about this event. he wrote some very nice stuff, when what he really wanted to write, i'm certain, was how his property value drops as yet another layer of garlic infuses his walls after our visit, how the smell of ass permeates his very own bedroom, not to mention his very own mattress, and how his children's vocabulary is once again enriched with ever intriguing variations of bilingual copulatory terms. but we left him two jars of cabbage, so we're square. sort of.

3. moving guys still have not arrived. i am assuming that somewhere on the trans-canada, you'll find a very heavily laden mule, slowly making his way west. if you happen to see him, feed him a handful of oats and a kind word. i want my down duvet soon.

4. i made soy pasta today, and damn, it was good. it was also high fibre, low carb, high protein, and very very yummy. yes, i know. i am a total food nerd. i always read the labels. always. and i cook from scratch. you can take your twinkies, your cheezies, your sody-pop, and shove'em. i will be busy chopping fresh basil.

5. honesty sucks donkey butt - i have a secret that i will share with you, but only if you promise not to tell my mom. i love diet black cherry vanilla coke. i can't finish a whole bottle at one sitting, on account of me being all dainty and shit, but it is deeeeeeelightfully refreshing.

6. speaking of numerical freakishness, being a belly-button gazer of the highest order, i went back to my early entries, and found therein the famed list of 100 things about moi. except, being a total ijit (or drunk) i counted in typical five-year-old fashion (you know, 1, 2, 6, 3, many, lots) and went from 23 to 11 and thereby my list of 100 things was actually 109 or somefink, which makes me think that even then, in those early years of careless abandon and daisy chains, i knew better than to plonk down a round number. i am sooo cool. even when i have no idea. of course being a total dork and anal queen, i had to renumber the aforementioned snafu, because if i hadn't, i would not be able to sleep at night. sad? yes, i concur.

7. yaaay. i love the number seven. which sort of pisses me off too because it tends to be Favourite Number of the Masses, what with its many religious connotations and sleek silhouette and all. and if there's one thing i hate (aside, of course, from all the other things i hate) it's to be One with the Masses. they're so dirty and smelly and ignorant, and if you happen to opine that i, too, am indeed all of those things, i will say, mayhap you are correct, good sir, but my filth, my odour, my obliviousness are special. they are of a higher class. they are of a better quality. my dirt is real dirt, not the plastic variety anyone can pick up at wal-mart. my smell is 100% non-synthetic. and my ignorance is maintained studiously.

8. well then, might as well move on to number 8, where i will tell you that i am now sitting at my table, listening to world music, drinking an australian shiraz, inhaling the garlicky aroma of the pasta sauce that graced the aforementioned pasta, and figuring that mister monkey is either dead or asleep in the bedroom. and it's not even 9pm. aah what a sexy sexy life we lead. today we looked at a condo that was very nice, proper, clean and all, and the price was decent. but mommy said no. why, mommy, why, you ask? because i did not find it sexy enough. i figure that if we are to live the quiet prim existence of an edwardian spinster, then we might as well have a sexy pad, to mitigate things a bit.

9. oh, what the hell. let the wine talk, eh? which makes me wonder - if "eh" is canadian, and "n'est-ce pas" is french, what do americans say when they want to express that sentiment? anyone? i know i have at least a sporadic american audience (if i haven't frightened them off with my rants - although the rants are usually leftist-political in nature and should not frighten off the thinking segment of the population seeing as anyone with half a brain HAS to be on my, i.e. the logical, side of the bush v. the sane universe conflict, but, as is perfectly expected of me by now, i digress). so - what do you say when what you want is a quick way to punctuate your sentence with something whose meaning can be roughly summed up as "ain't that so?" isn't "eh?" quicker and neater? (you might have noticed how i'm really into economy of expression.)
i never considered myself to be a big time eh'er, but having spent a great chunk of last year south of the border, i became very self conscious about it. i felt like i was wearing a beaver hat and guzzling maple syrup. it was bad enough that my vowels were short and my political leanings pinkish in hue, i had to end my sentences with "eh" too. i felt like such a hoser. but, damnit, i got over it.

10. rock stars be damned, i will have my crushes on chefs. i want to get a slow sexy pedicure from jamie oliver. i want nigella lawson to massage sweet almond oil into my various roly-poly bits. i want someone to make me creme brulee and spoon feed it to me in bed naked. i think this is why i married mister monkey - i subconsciously sensed his culinary potential. let me tell you, his remoulade made me moan. (but don't pass this on. it's kind of private. especially to my mom.)

11. obligatory unround number which today happens to also be a prime number. hurray for those numerical rebels! go, prime numbers, go! if i were a number, i would be a prime number and nothing else. good night.

why, barney, why? and other thematically related rants

i've been surfing the net and reading other people's blogs, something i really should not do. it makes me feel inferior. it makes me feel unpopular. it makes me feel slightly rancid and unoriginal. bleeergh. that's that. so, let's number some paragraphs again (i figure it makes things more palatable to prospective readers - they will not be faced with a ten foot long essay, but a series of friendly bite sized points). here goes, boys and girls.

1. why do people hate barney the dinosaur? because i definitely don't sense the same kind of hatred toward, say, the teletubbies. both are oddly coloured, overgrown and disturbing, so why specifically hate barney? i figure it's because the teletubbies don't say much. they giggle, make odd little noises and carry their little furry man-purses (satanic homosexuals that they are) around. barney, on the other hand, surrounds himself with the type of children that beg for after-school alleyway beatings, and sings what fun it is to share. hah. what fun it is to share. who is he kidding? purple commie idiot! sharing is about as natural to humanity (even its newest, youngest members) as managing to pee INSIDE the toilet is to men. "let's have fun with manners," indeed!

2. and what's with the overgrown anthropomorphic creatures anyhow? do the marketing geniuses figure that since kids are little to begin with, they should be surrounded by gigantic yellow birds, obese purple dinosaurs and such? can that be good for kids' psyches? the world is dangerous. don't talk to strangers. share your toys with your sister. don't cross the street alone. oh, and by the way, here is a 6' chicken to bring the lesson home to you. nightmares? you think?

3. and speaking of children, whenever mr. m and i stop analysing, agonising and theorising about parenting, i always revert to status quo. always. and the status quo is - naaah. i mean, what a good life we have. drop by for wine. pop out for a movie. sleep in. get disgustingly drunk every once in a while. swear like a sailor in two, sometimes three languages. go dancing till 4 am (purely theoretical, this one. i really don't like to go out dancing in practice, but i adore it in theory.) go to a concert. go camping. and before all you parental types get in an uproar that, yes, you can still do all that once your wee blessings have beamed down into your lives, tell me - can you do it at the drop of a hat? huh? can ya? i didn't think so. and no, i am not so tied up in the american dream tele-version of child-rearing that i think once you are a parent it's all barney on the stereo, vacations to disneyland, french-fries and chik'n chunks on the menu, and the idea that my entire existence having now been justified by these darling genetic mini-me's i must focus solely on their happiness and well-being, becoming servant, cook, maid, chauffeur and banker. still, that does happen to a lot of people. and yes, i know i am not a lot of people. but there is still that time in every parent's life where there will be toys on the floor, and i have a hard enough time negotiating my apartment without falling/dropping things/breaking things/hurting myself/hurting others that the idea of the child-related obstacle course of a home makes me come out in pre-emptive bruises all over. so unless mister monkey comes up with something better than his idea that having children is great because you get to teach a little person how to be a good big person (yawn), it'll be a childless existence for us.

4. on a totally unrelated topic, the condos in our building are notoriously underpriced vis a vis the general real estate market. part of the reason is our lobby which boasts black lacquer and brass 80's mirrors, 70's den lighting, ditto "wood" panelling and wall to wall maroon carpeting. the new management company thought they'd remedy the situation by...ahem....a little light decorating. imagine, if you will, a distant cousin of less than stellar intellect. his sight ain't what it used to be (all that wood alcohol, grandma figures). neither is his hand-eye coordination. he is also colour blind. now imagine the kind of artwork he would produce. two samples of this are now hanging in our lobby, surrounded in the one case by hanging tea light sconces from what i assume must be dollarama, and in the other by "realistic silk-like" fall foliage. i can feel my property values plummeting as i write this. also, all of the above are screwed into the "wood" panelling with big ass metal screws. classy, no?

10 October, 2006

umlauts, hasidic jews, sheep and sexx: Now In New Numerical Format!!!

1. a few days ago i had a dream where i lost mister monkey in a loud thumpy nightclub. specifically, a hasidic nightclub. yes, a nightclub run by and for hasidic jews. teehee. i sure like you, brain. you're funny. just keep your creepy grey hands off my skittles. i don't like you THAT much.

2. also, we are home, and our condo seems to have gotten too small for our many shiny american-bought possessions, so we are going to become ├╝berconsumers, and buy ourselves a bigger place. i want it to be swanky. i figure i am old enough for swanky. i'm thinking wall to wall red shag, ceiling mirrors, and a vibrating bed with a hottub underneath. and a wetbar. and a top of the line hi-fi. whaddyathink? would you drop by?

3. we drove home across canada, it took us 4 long days and we came to the following conclusions:
  • hotel pillows are of satan
  • finnish pancakes kick ass!!!
  • this country is far too big and i am officially filing a complaint to that effect
  • northern ontario is actually further south than alberta's southernmost border which puts its name on par with chicago being called the midwest for annoying geographical misnomers

4. i have recently gotten spam in my gmail account which is so rare and odd that it needs to be mentioned (and, no, you can't have my email address yet, i barely know you). one of the subject lines promised me "better sexx" which i found really intriguing, because up till now i have only been having sex. to the best of my knowledge, i have not yet had sexx, which logically precludes my ability to have better sexx. have you had sexx? was it better than sex? was it hott? just wondering.

5. yaaay! we now have internet in our very own home! we also have several miles of cables draped attractively over the fridge and counter, but it's a small price to pay for being able to talk to you again. i sure have missed you. i will go out on a limb and say y'all are better than sexx. but then again, how would i know?

6. sheep are cute, there's no way around it. they just are.