31 July, 2006

FYI

for your information, here is what i did today:

1. shopped for fruit, yogurt and respite from the heat.

2. sweated. a lot. ever had rivulets of sweat trickling down the grand canyon of your heat-inflamed ass? no? it's exactly as much fun as it sounds. maybe even less.

3. bought, washed and consumed 2 kilograms of cherries which had mr. m and me partaking in a sort of explosive gastrointestinal relay trot to the one and only bathroom. but oh so worth it.

4. lied around totally naked on the bed in the middle of the living room in a heat slump for most of the afternoon and evening, spritzing ourselves periodically and screaming over the constant drone of the cute-but-almost-entirely-useless retro 40's fan my parents lent us.

5. read a book of recipes by john ash, the only cookbook so far that has inspired me to actually make several things in it by actually following the recipes almost exactly, something i generally tend not to do. and they be good. really really good. honest. i have many cookbooks, mostly for entertainment and reading pleasure. this one, i use. try it. ($3 at winners!)

6. washed the dishes in the nude, figuring that mr. LOUD AND BEAUTIFUL could damn well see my bits if he so desired, on account of it being fucking hot. (my bits, and the weather, thank you very much)

7. pestered mr. m to get off the computer and take a shower with me, which he is doing at this very moment, so off i go. good night and may your night be pleasantly cool and rocked by every kind of fragrant breeze. i know ours won't be.

stick it to the man

i was sorting my emails today and came across this gem: "what, no comments about the electrified nipple clamps? how the zippy youth of yesteryear falls into moral and mental decrepitude and focuses solely on the issue at hand instead of diverging tangentially into the land of non-sequiteurs and seguelessness...."

hmmmm, nipple clamps.

remember how i said it was hot yesterday? hah. HAH, i say. i was a naive and sweetly blind wee thing yesterday. i knew nothing of how hot it could get. today it will get up to 37 goddamn degrees of the celcius variety. plus there's a humidex warning ("beware the humidex!" their cries pierced the night's sweet air and henceforth terror reigned). i am sitting here in my god-given outfit of skin and hair and am wondering what else i could possibly remove to feel better. possibly i will shift things around in the fridge to make room for my overheated ass. but you really didn't need to know that, did you? or perhaps you did, which is why you keep on returning. plenty of ass information for your reading pleasure.

hurray for cold cold watermelons (i especially like the van gogh #20; nothing beats high-culture-carved-in-fruit to make postmodernism come alive). also, nothing beats this headline for messing with your perception of the known universe. i mean, square is flat, right? my vision of a square watermelon is one that has just been run over by an ACME truck, à la wile.e. coyote. what they give us is actually a cube. yes, CNN, there is a difference between a square and a cube. sheesh! hire a geometry consultant or something!

i am off. i shall find myself a piece of consumerist heaven, as long as it is air-conditioned, and there i will curl up today.

stay tuned for more sweat drenched updates.

30 July, 2006

girdles are a girl's best friend

so, no, i did not recover The Lost Post, and my plan to plumb the depths of my mind and recover it were quickly put to rest by both the apparent unplumbability of my brain depths, and the excruciating slowness of my parental computer. alas, such is life. if it was meant to be it would have flown like a swallow on gilded wings into the azure sky, as it was, it waddled dodo-like into oblivion and there it shall stay. which is too bad cause there was a funny bit where apparently the cats wanted me to go to sleep and so i went to sleep. cause you know, when the cats want something...
we're back in our shitty apartment now, and the only improvement over my parents' place is the internet speed. cause the smell, noise, neighbourhood and general cleanliness are definitely down. very much down.
but on the good news front - we are after all moving back to alberta at the end of august.
and that's all for today. i just wanted you to know that, yes, i am alive, but that, no, nothing witty and informative is forthcoming in the immediate future.
unless....


no. nothing to say. definitely nothing to say.


it's hot. that's all. go away now, ok?


oh! oh! oh! wait! i had a really wicked dream last night, where mr. monkey and i were some kind of suicide bombers and the whole dream i was wrapped in a nice little bomb vest and i had a big red button which was very nerve-wracking because i am just a tad clumsy and we crossed the saint lawrence river and there were many many dolphins and whales and all along the way we kept rescuing stray dogs, so we were basically these humanitarian suicide bombers and then near the end snoop doggy dog (or whatever his name is these days) came over and shared his ration of exotic leafy greens which apparently were very scarce in this war torn version of canada, and i think this act of selflessness made me decide that i really wasn't going to bomb anything after all, or maybe it was just the dogs and abundance of sea mammals that softened me, or maybe i was just bored of driving around with this annoying red button in my hands at all times. boy, was i tired when i woke up. but i do vividly remember being a very cheerful suicide bomber. very very cheerful.

ok, now that is really all. i have fed you crumbs from the gaping emptiness of the pantry that is my brain, and if snoop won't give you some of his leafy greens, i certainly won't.

good night.

oh, wait! wine update:

i had one glass of wine on thursday and went to bed with a raging headache. but i'm not sure if it was the wine's fault because Bad Things happened that day.

the following evening mr.monkey joined us and i had multiple glasses of red wine and i was just fine. even the next morning!

this makes me both happy and sad. happy because i seem to be making a comeback just in time for my wedding trip to edmonton. sad because i attribute my sudden and inexplicable ability to look halfway decent in a bikini for the first time in years to my reduced caloric consumption of alcoholic bevvies. so now what do i do? fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

ok, now this is truly all. GO. AWAY.

26 July, 2006

shit

i can't believe this: i just spent over an hour on a post that had numbers, thoughts, links and everything, only to lose it to some snafu in the bloggoverse. i pressed the red "publish post" button, was told to sign in, did so, and then poof! my hour's work gone. thank you, blogger.com. i'll just go self-medicate now. to my six loyal readers (count'em! six!), you'll just have to wait till tomorrow. or the day after.

25 July, 2006

bad kitty!

insomnia sucks. it is a self perpetuating vicious cycle of fulfilled neurotic expectations and it pisses me off. i lie awake in bed, knowing that i am tired, goddamnit, that i really really want to sleep while my body is having a full blown anxiety attack without having the decency to tell my mind what the fuck is up. what the hell am i scared of? well...currently probably a heck of a lot (not the least being my psychotic neighbour, the military unrest in the middle east, the depletion of fish stocks in the world's oceans, global warming, cancer, overpopulation, deforestation, globalization, excessive nationalism, despotism, consumerism, mormonism, terrorism, the spread of right-wing ideologies, that suspicious mole on my right thigh, extremists of all kinds, dogmatic world leaders, water pollution, air pollution, noise pollution, light pollution, the morally reprehensible amount of military spending in light of world hunger, general stupidity, dishonesty, avian flu, africa, new orleans, endangered species, as well as our immediate future, but i digress) the point is, i resent having an anxiety attack without being fully aware of actually being anxious. i lie there trying to listen to "that ocean sound at the back of my throat" that shiva rae tells me my yoga breathing should be, and instead i am barely adequately oxygenating my blood with these shallow, wheezy little breaths, which, of course, do little to calm me. grrrr. the night birds sing, the air is sweet, the lake whispers off in the distance, the cat is creeping up on my bed waiting to suck the air out of my lungs...wait! could THAT be it? has the cat been sucking out my breath? has the cat been messing with my sleep ability? and, while we're at it, has the goddamn cat been stealing my wine mojo? bad kitty! bad, bad kitty!

if i number random thoughts will it all seem planned?

1. jools, i have honoured you with a link, only to make you share it with the rest of my friends. i feel rather terrible but know that the moment i dig up (read: steal from mimi) another wicked link, it will definitely be for you! and keep a corner of your stomach available for our planned and eagerly awaited beer and poutine night!

2. sleeping pill bottles should be easy to open. this seems obvious to me. apparently it is not obvious to the drug companies. i had to resort to melatonin last night again, and it was an exercise in frustration. i'm lying there, tossing and turning, exhausted but unable to sleep, listening to the wind howling outside, and when i finally break down and decide to take the pill, i fumble with it and fumble with it and fumble with it until i am wide awake and pissed off. why?

3. staying here at my parents' place is bad for blogging. the place does not smell, there are no screaming neighbours, no tacky souvenir shops and throngs of matching wide eyed tacky tourists to inspire my ire. here the wind blows, the lake whispers its watery secrets, the thyme covered ex-lawn perfumes the air, birds sing, humming bird fights wasps for food, cats play, etc. all lovely things, sure, but YAWN, don't you agree? i mean, this ain't no goddamn monet painting, this is my blog, yo!

4. i think i have given up on world domination. the world does not deserve me. it just doesn't. i can't stand listening to the news about israel's latest stunt. i can't stand our prime minister's inane comments: "measured response"? what are you on, lego man?!? (hint - he's the one in black, on the left - uncanny resemblance, no?) actually i can't stand to have a prime minister whose nose shows such a close and intimate knowledge of george w.'s prostate. grrrrr. can i just exist in my own little fuzzy circle of ignorance and bliss? i think i shall.

5. tiny, small, little miniature bananas. and not this kind, either. discuss. here's an article to help you with your research. i guess not much happens in pittsburgh. also, what does underwear have to do with bananas?...ahem, i mean other than THAT! and where is your copy editor, pittsburgh? shame on you! although it would make for some pretty hip song lyrics: "baby bananas are hitting, are hitting me straight in the soul! baby bananas are hitting, are hitting me out of control" also, here i thought the U.S. market was dominated by giant, evil, greedy corporations, but all along, it was bananas.

6. i had two glasses of white wine for lunch yesterday.... i mean WITH lunch. there were no screamy girlie noises of any kind, and i still do not have a diamond solitaire engagement ring, nor do i want one. but i had two glasses of wine and i was fine, if a little more talkative than my usual reticent self. (laugh, if you will, you know me too well.) i am, crab-like, slowly making my way towards having more than one glass of red wine. in two weeks, after all, i shall decend upon my home town, and friends from far and wide will expect me to be the old me, i.e. red wine swilling potty-mouth agnieszka, not the new me, i.e. cooler quaffing girlie girl (who in all probability would eventually succumb to making screamy girlie noises - after all, once your drinking ability goes, your mental faculties will follow).

7. why does my mom talk to her cat with faaar more affection than she does to me? i, too, have soft silky hair, and a wide eyed innocent stare! however i will not, in a fit of extreme paranoia, wedge myself behind the washing machine. that's a point in my favour, don't you think? weh, time to produce some grandbabies, methinks. where's that husband when you need him?

23 July, 2006

death, darkness and disorder pervade this post - discuss

i was feeling sad and hurt and vulnerable and fuzzy around the edges but this helped a little. perhaps, if you are not at your brightest, it'll help you too. jools, it made me think of you; you always find the best links, so this one's for you. actually, let's expand this idea - this one is for all the people in my life on whom i can count, who actually act like they like me instead of feeding me hallmark sentiments unbacked by any concrete action whatsoever. this one is for people who make a place for me in their busy lives (and yes, i know we are all busy busy busy), who do not make me feel like i am at the very bottom of their "to do" list, who make it clear that despite their busy lives, they actually want to spend some time with me, who are there for me in a solid, evidence-based way instead of a purely theoretical speculative way. this one is for people who are friends who act like family, instead of family who act like distant and not particularly well-liked acquaintances. and in the unlikely event that my family members are indeed reading this, let me make it clear that this is not a general bombardment but precision bombing targeting one very specific someone who is probably not reading this anyway, being far too busy busy busy.

so there you have it - i was going to make this a DIY blog. specifically "how to hurt me," but i figured it would sound all sad and blue and really, what i feel is lucky. lucky to have so many spectacular people in my life whose regular and ongoing spectacularity i might not acknowledge often enough. so keep up the good work. continue NOT giving me gifts for christmas and birthdays (i am serious, we do not like and do not appreciate gifts, unless they are edible, drinkable, or perhaps smokable); continue NOT sending me christmas or other cards (unless they feature a photo of your family and/or a detailed update of your life) - i will only recycle them and bemoan the countless trees wasted on this bullshit tradition; continue NOT declaring your affection for me despite all evidence to the contrary; just continue being in my life. okay? okay.

editorial comment: i was going to erase this post, having once gotten it out of my system, but i reread it and it seemed more positive than negative, so let's keep it for a while and see what happens. i'll probably erase it later on when i can think of something better to replace it with. but don't worry, the link stays.

of pickles and wine

i am happy to announce that apparently your prayers, animal sacrifices and/or oak-huggings have had the desired effect - i drank this weekend. ok, it was mostly Stuff Other Than Wine, but there was wine involved and there were NO HEADACHES OF ANY KIND! well, except for trying to find my mom's beautiful but fully psychotic/paranoid cat who was so stressed out by the arrival of our good friend matt that she spent the next day and night in her favourite basement crawl space, and then lodged herself so successfully behind the washing machine that the 3 of us had to move it to release the little furry freak. she must have felt pretty stupid, because she let us pet her but wouldn't meet our eyes.

furthermore, in the useless news department, i made two jars of pickles. not the pseudo-pickling which uses vinegar, but the true brine method which allows the pickles to develop their own lactic acid and tastes waaaay better. all you need to do is pack your pickling cukes very tightly in a clean glass jar. pack in dill flowers and sprigs, several cloves of peeled garlic and a little bit of fresh horseradish if you happen to have such a commodity handy (if you do, i'm betting you're polish - czesc!), in the meantime boil water with salt (approx 1 heaping tablespoon of kosher salt per litre of H20). when the water cools, pour over pickles and lightly close lid, making sure that the cukes remain under the liquid. keep on counter, do not refrigerate. several days later you have fermented yumminess. these are to be made and eaten as is - how to actually sterilize and seal them you'll have to ask martha - i'm all about the immediate pickle gratification.

on a less sour note, my favourite b.c. winery has changed names from a perfectly respectable scherzinger wines, to a hip wanna-be dirty laundry. now i'm all for imaginative names and such, but dirty laundry? feh! it sounds vaguely disturbing, like one should look for the musky odour of week-old socks in the bouquet of the gewürztraminer, which just don't seem right. but good luck to them, provided they haven't changed the formulation of their wines. if they start winning awards, i'll worry. i generally hate award winning wines. the more gold medals on the label, the less i like it. and not because i am some sort of snob who wants to bask in the esoteric but because i truly find them unpalatable. i do not like the currently fashionable dry whites. if i must drink white, i want it to taste like a meadow from the sound of music - germanic and fragrant and sweet (minus the nazis, thank you very much - i draw the line at nazis in my wine). reds, on the other hand, must be dry. more than that - my kind of red will kick your teeth in, say a few choice words about yo mama, and then french kiss you till you are spent. basically a wine with enough character to strangle a goat. kinda like me. except for the goat part. most days.

20 July, 2006

PIIIGGGGSSSS!!!! INNN!!!!! SPAAAACEEEEE!!!!!

after what feels like a lifetime of hot sweaty insomnia (and not the good kind, either, thank you very much), i have finally slept a full night. mother's milk my ass, my mom mixed me up a couple of piña coladas, with that kickass 151 proof rum, then plonked down a bottle of melatonin on my night table, and off i went.

it is raining, there is thunder off in the distance, the air is clean and cool, and the room doesn't smell - clearly i am not in our shitty apartment anymore. mr.m will be joining me for a weekend of hammocking, drinking things, and swimming in the oceanic great lake. come on down!

now here is an issue i'd like to take up with someone upstairs - it seems that, for the time being at least, i can no longer drink red wine. i object. this is as much a part of my personality as my big mouth, my...ahem...sunny disposition, and my love of food. if i cease to drink, who will i be? parties will no longer be the same! people are counting on me, here! they are counting on me to say stupid things, fall off furniture, plead with mr.m to be taken home immediately(while AT home), talk too much, reveal too much, and generally be the life of the party. if you are reading this, know me, and feel that my assessment of the situation is way off the mark and i am actually not the life of the party but an annoying loud drunk, then keep your ideas to yourself, and, better yet, go stick your head in a pig!

it started with intense headaches the morning after. but, hey, i'm a big girl, i can take it. then, fairly recently, it became intense headaches immediately following consumption. this was a little harder to take - while i am more than willing to shift consequences for my stupid actions to some hypothetical "tomorrow morning me", i really don't like to be faced with those same consequences as the "right now with a raging headache me." i put up with it for a while but slowly i seem to have weaned myself off red wine.

when i whined (ha ha, get it?) to my dad about it last night, he suggested i switch to white wine. GACK! white wine?!!! white wine is all lunching-with-the-too-skinny-girlfriends-on-salad-with-dressing-on-the-side-and-showing-off-diamond-solitaire-engagement-rings-while-making-screamy-girlie-noises. now red wine is all left-bank-garret-paint-stained-hands-hunk-of-good-french-smelly-cheese-and-baguette-on-the-table-next-to-my-almost-finished-manuscript. get the difference? cause i'm all about the garret thing. at least hypothetically, so long as it doesn't smell like stale curry and have a next door psychopath with a taste for weepy canadian chanteuses. and i detest the screamy girlie noises. you DO know what i am referring to, of course? you are after all reading my blog which is all about being wise beyond your years, cynical but forgiving, chic and devil-may-care, witty and demented but in a good way, and having immaculate taste, with absolutely NO SCREAMY GIRLIE NOISES EVER. or you can just leave now and never come back.

the problem becomes even more serious in light of the following truths - i do not like beer, i do not particularly like hard liquor (unless it is in blenderized umbrella drinks - i love girlie drinks, just not screamy girlie noises), and coolers are simply embarassing to partake of in adult company (y'all hear that, friends? i called you adult company!). i do like martinis, but while it is easy enough to open one's second (or third) bottle of wine, it is not particularly easy to mix oneself a fourth (or fifth) cosmopolitan. and if, in desperation, one simply begins to drink straight from the bottle and someone (inevitably) takes a picture, it is immesurably better for one's classiness factor for that bottle to be filled with wine rather than with vodka. and i am, as you might have gathered, ALL about maintaining my classiness factor.

so if you are the praying type, pray for me. if you are the offering of burnt animal sacrifice kind, go knock off a little lamb for me. if you are a neo-druid, go hug an oak for me. just somebody, for the sake of all that is good and holy, do something, ANYTHING!!! cause mommy needs a drink and that drink needs to be red wine. over and out.

17 July, 2006

unrelated startling facts, some of them even dull!

1. if you care for me, you will get me a feather duster. and i don't mean a cheap, plastic chicken feather duster the colour of bubble gum. i want a real live ostrich feather duster, preferably with a wooden handle. my birthday is far away but i can wait. "and ye shall know their love by the gifts they come a-bearing" bartholomew 7: 32 (i just made that up). but seriously, folks, i will be waiting. and remember - i will officially hit my mid thirties then so i can become easily unbalanced. unlike now. snurf!

2. i was thinking of professions to put into my profile. i have been an intrepid lobsterwoman, am now a languid potato farmer (take that any way you will), and was thinking of moving on to one legged rockette or a cheerful mercenary with the french foreign legion. i'm sure they have authentic feather dusters - i bet things get really dusty in the desert. if you have any other suggestions, drop me a line.

3. mr.m is quite a hilarious sleeper - he has sung in his sleep on more than one occasion and regularly laughs his head off. today as i got into bed (before jumping right out again for your literary pleasure), he chuckled and said, "blind one! mucha-you!" (mucha, pronounced mooha is a fly in polish - go figure!) why a blind one and why the added "you" is doomed to remain a mystery: he never remembers a thing upon waking.

4. i have just knocked an alarmingly large beetle off the chair i am sitting in. i fear that the dark is perfect for these beasts but i cannot turn on the light because my nakedness would stun the neighbourhood. actually the neighbourhood seems pretty stunned already. stunned as me arse, as the newfies so eloquently put it.

5. i have gone to the dollar store (yay dollarama, for a. the supercool name, and b. the fact that all things actually do cost only a dollar) and purchased a small spray bottle which i then filled with water and several drops of essential oil of grapefruit. this i spray on my hot, hot feet. (hot as in overheated, not as in sexually aroused - get your mind out of the gutter, all you podophiliacs out there!) shana, if you are reading this - wowee, it works. short term only (goshdarn evaporation) but it really really helps. of course it doesn't exactly help me sleep since i am too busy gleefully spraying my feet, but it is a good thing nevertheless.

6. many, many brackets in the preceding point. can you take it? all those whispered asides, all those snippets of disjointed thought? i said - CAN YOU TAKE IT? 'cause if you can't, that's all right with me. (really)

7. sleep evades me. it is still bloody hot. my mom told me they had a big scary storm which was heading in our direction. it takes about 4 hours to cover the distance by car - how long will the storm take? i mean the traffic can't be that bad at 12:30am!

8. i seem to be losing more and more hair. i wonder if i will be a cute bald girl, like that one in that star trek movie, what was her name? god, i love google. all you do is type in a string of silly words that are tumbling around in your sleep-deprived brain and you get pertinent information back. whoever said "garbage in, garbage out" had clearly never heard of google. which, of course, happens to be absolutely true, since this was said before...gasp!...google actually existed. but i don't want to lose my hair. not without a damn good reason. perhaps i should try that black turnip shampoo after all. strange how all black turnip shampoo searches (no, folks, this does not come directly from my brain!) turned up polish sites. do no other ethnic groups out there use turnip shampoo for weak hair? CHALLENGE: if you are a non-polish ethnic type person (whatever that means) and use turnip shampoo (and by this i do NOT mean a detergent used for cleansing your turnips), let me know.

9. i am very tired yet not sleepy and i am getting hungry. also, i keep imagining all manner of multi-legged beasties crawling all over me, though mostly it's just my hair falling out and my psychoses acting up. but i do believe i shall retire for the night.

Golden, Ripe, Boneless Bananas, 39 Cents A Pound!!!

it's even hotter now. have i told you lately how much i miss home? sweet alberta air, without all the murky pollutants and humidity that make southern ontario seem like a gigantic brownish smog-flavoured jello salad from an alternate universe: it quivers, it is somewhat but not completely clear, it quivers some more and emits smelly allergens that make my eyes itch.

and speaking of jello salad - how many recipes do you think one needs for strawberry pretzel jello salad? the answer, my friend, is many. one simply cannot have enough! apparently with jello salad, your imagination is the only limiting ingredient in the cornucopia of jello possibilities. i think my favourite ones are the ones featuring cottage cheese - congealed barf in a mold! what could be more appealing? well, maybe if a monkey made it...

jello salad memory lane: my first summer in canada we were invited to a church picnic held outside of town in lovely rolling fields surrounding an old one room schoolhouse - basically the type of picnic you'd think was a thing of the past. and considering this was circa 1982, you'd be right! anyhow - they had homemade ice cream for the kiddies, fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, watemelon and i believe i recollect an actual cotton candy machine. but what i remember most clearly is heading through the salad buffet and coming across multi-hued glistening gelatin molds filled with the aforementioned cottage cheese along with shredded cabbage, carrots, fruit, marshmallows and raisins. good god, i thought to myself, surely i have lost something in translation here. to my straightforward polish mind jello meant dessert. cabbage and cottage cheese meant definitely not dessert. the combination was appalling - sort of like serving fried chicken with whipped cream or sprinkling m&m's on ceasar salad.
and raisins? don't get me started. i believe they are the food of satan, and polish people make a point of adding them to all baked goods - surely you must have heard of the famous polish vinyards! no? aaah! that's right. because we HARDLY HAVE ANY! next thing they'll make bananas the unofficial national dish. or monkey brains. and just because we might have had a run-in with the turks 500 or so years ago does not give us the right to embrace raisins so bloody fervently! damn it, polish people who bake from scratch! enough with the raisins! and damn it, protestant canadian people who host lovely church picnics for recent immigrants! enough with the jello salads filled with strange and unwelcome ingredients! a salad is not supposed to be a postmodern critique of binary oppositions - sweet and savoury, salad and dessert, yummy and creepy, etc. no! it is to be et. (or made by monkeys.)

i am done, i think.

16 July, 2006

bob's your uncle

it is hot. it is very hot. it is so hot, in fact, that rivulets of sweat are running down between the old sweater muffins. sheesh, even typing the word "sweater" makes me uncomfortable. did i mention how hot it is? tomorrow they are predicting 35 degrees, of the celcius variety. for those of you still living in the dark ages of fahrenheit, that is very fucking hot. what with the humidex, it will most probably feel like the inside of a cow's liver. gack! since i obviously have another sleepless night ahead of me, i thought i'd warn you of the torrent of witty posts that shall pour forth from my lightly steamed brain (mmmmm, lightly steamed brain with wilted spinach and a balsamic vinegar reduction - or just make mine a sandwich!) in the morrow. or not. actually, probably not. i'll be too busy sweating, which has recently beat solitaire as my all time favourite activity. did i mention how bloody hot it is?

14 July, 2006

three little pigs and other tales of ham

i'm off for the weekend, but i thought you might enjoy these - i stole them special just for you from mimi. they are sick, wrong, and really really funny. also, if you're a parent, you might want to skip this. or not.

13 July, 2006

in which small furry animals fear me and i impersonate johnny depp

this just in: a black ontario squirrel was seen climbing the electrical post outside my window. i turned and shrieked twice and had the immense satisfaction of seeing the rodent jump, turn around and skedaddle in an impressive bit of highwire speedwalking. ha ha. squirrels fear me. i am a mean mean person. do you like me now?

boy, that beats a whole lot of other posts for the title of most inane post EVER.

for those of you just joining me here - please go back, look at the pictures, laugh and cry along with me, and ignore this mess, ignore it, i tell you. look away! just look away!

ahem. do you like me now?

do you like me now?

do you like me now?

do you like me now?

12 July, 2006

grrrrrrrroar!!!

and on the ever popular topic - "me, me, me", or "things that fail to arouse an inkling of interest in anyone but myself": i've been thinking lately that i am utterly unambitious, lazy, and lack any kind of willpower. the things i say i will do, i regularly fail to do; the things i say i will do no more, i continue to do with an admirable regularity. i figured out last night that, if such a thing existed, i would have an astoundingly high fallibility quotient. and then i thought, hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if i became a pope, and therefore infallible? then my simultaneous fallibility and my infallibility would have to go at each other like godzilla and mothra, complete with cheap tokyo mock-ups, cheesy pyrotechnics and a cast of thousands of very small screaming japanese people. who knows what the end result would be! also, i think i should be pope for the cool, hand-embroidered pope outfits. very fetching!
and speaking of mothra, you know what else is fun? inventing opponents for godzilla, like cowra, goatra, hamstra, sheepra, and my personal favourite - the lightning fast snailra.
i have spoken. you may back out of the audience chamber slowly, then run like hell for the hills, hoping that my pack of highly trained killer fishybottom dachshunds will not catch up with you. ha!

large! quantities! of kool aid!

this for the unimaginative masses, for whom a water-coloured waterfall would seem just too damn dull. gack! Posted by Picasa

11 July, 2006

why i drink

1. there comes a moment in one's drinking, when a certain level of clarity is reached. whether this is actually clarity or a muddled drunk version thereof is completely beside the point - it feels clear, and one can see things through it, which is good enough for me.

2. i am shy. i hate talking to people whom i don't know. sometimes i hate talking to people i know. i don't like all people i know and for them i require alcoholic lubrication.

3. it makes me feel good. it makes me feel sexy, lucious, lovely and smart. it makes me feel happier. i know this sounds sad, but there it is folks, the truth.

4. sometimes it makes me write poetry which, when viewed in the cold harsh light of sobriety, tends to suck, but not always.

5. it makes music better, though not nearly as good as herb, but herb is not always readily available or safe (especially during our sojourn in that little country down south, where i routinely had fearful visions of fully armed commando types swarming our place were i to have even a puff - such is my canadian paranoia about the usa)

6. it makes philosophical discussions with people whom i like even better.

7. did i mention how good it makes me feel? if you can hit that plateau of a good buzz, and maintain it with well paced glasses of wine, you are flying. one thanksgiving at tony's i had the buzz on for several good hours, before succumbing to sloppy drunkenness (the typical end point for our lovely annual thanksgiving celebrations)

8. blerk. the fount of inspiration runneth dry - must get another drink

LOUD AND BEAUTIFUL!!!!

i've finally gone and done it. ladies and gentlemen, i've gone and called the authorities. and lest you judge me harshly, let me ask - how would you like to be woken up at 3 am by the words "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING GODDAMN COCKSUCKERS!!!" with variations on the theme, at full volume, while things are getting smashed? not so nice, that. so i caved and called the cops. and, again, lest you judge me harshly, mine was the third phone call received that night about this particular address. i don't think i have ever heard anyone scream so loudly and with such apoplectic abandon. ever. add to this the whole 3 am bit. and that it went on for almost 2 hours. not so nice.
the cops, of course, took their sweet time.
at one point the madman next door shouted, "YEAH, POINT YOUR GUNS AT ME! SHOOT ME!" and while i was pretty certain there were no cops there yet, i found myself agreeing with him wholeheartedly. damn skippy! the man wants to be shot - shoot the man! he's a taxpayer, he has his rights! but, alas and alack, no shots were fired and he continued his tirade against COCKSUCKERS, MOTHERFUCKERS, ASSHOLES and PRICKS. the highlight of the event was his response to an irate neighbour presumably asking him to turn down his music (though how he could hear the music through the screaming is beyond me): "I LIKE MY MUSIC LOUD AND BEAUTIFUL!!!!" this, i assume, explains his predilection for celine dion. mr.m and i giggled like schoolgirls over that one. it was hollered with much bitterness and malevolence, while guns and roses played in what was left of the background. tee hee. what a whacky combo! he must certainly be popular at parties. until he snaps, i guess.
but as all good things must come to an end, eventually all was quiet.
now it's hard enough for me to fall asleep under normal circumstances (such as not having adrenalin pumping through my bloodstream) so i was not happy with the odds that i would actually drift off. but you know what? i did drift off, and fate repaid me for my suffering with a soft porn dream featuring prince william (who was actually much cuter when he was just squeaking by as jailbait). so the night was not a total wash out.

10 July, 2006

am i a summer?

can anyone explain to me why the goalie in soccer wears a different colour than his team? is there a rule about this? i know that it would confuse me if i were a football player - i would most probably attempt to score in my own goal on more than one occasion (of course this is so purely a hypothetical concept that it boggles the mind). but back to the colour - why? do they want something that works a little better with their complexion than the team colours? did gianluigi buffon* say, "hey guys, blue makes me look all washed out, would you mind if i wore daffodil yellow?" do they get colour draping done and, having been decreed a "summer" or "fall," only wear colours from the palette suggested by their colourist? please, if you have the answer, let me know.

*if i had a boy-child, what a great name he could have! we could call him "buffy" for short and he could have a fantastic range of gender issues. gosh, what fun!

09 July, 2006

muscular french ass

just so you know i truly care about your entertainment, how about a round of this? i have no idea what it is, but i know i often feel just like it. do you?

also, the repeating genotype thing worries me. it seems that there are only so many faces to go around and then they repeat endlessly, though with some variation, and then you get that uncomfortable feeling, as though you're absolutely sure you've met this guy before, but no, it's only the repeating genotype rearing its ugly little head. d'you know what i mean? no? then you have a rich and fulfilling life. i hope you are enjoying it, while i worry to death over useless minutiae.

mother-in-law comes for a week-long visit tomorrow. my suddenly overflowing social life continues. which is too bad - i really miss talking to you. truly. i do.

also, congratulations italia! though i feel very sorry for the frenchman who hit the goal post. will they comfort him tonight, you think, or give him a sound spanking? with that i leave you - the image of a ripe, firm, muscular french ass. enjoy!

05 July, 2006

still here

i am still here, still alive, but i am suddenly experiencing a strange phenomenon that i believe is called a "social life." i have heard of this. i even have a dim recollection of it from a far distant past. and now i get one of my very own. but not to worry, little chickens: when the white nights of fort mcmurray descend, i shall be there, plugging away at the keyboard, pouring out my frozen little heart's woes for your vicarious reading pleasure. ok? ok.