25 August, 2006

chicken innard lies

hi. i'm back. and still in edmonton. my husband's (insert swear words here) company has AGAIN decided to buttfuck us and change plans at the last minute. mr. m is currently living it up in chicagoland, and i am fulfilling at least one of the planned...ahem...plans (rusty brain, forgive me) and working like the afore-mentioned respectable human being. one other thing that i am doing and doing frighteningly well is Not Drinking. also nights and nights of Not Sleeping as well as weeks of Not Having Sex. the Not Having Sex is obviously a given, and probably makes mr. m very happy (not the Not Having Sex bit, but the bit of me Not Having Sex what with him being very very far away, ok?), but the first two are really starting to piss yours truly off. inspired by a program on sleep on the cbc, i fantasize about going to a sleep clinic, getting hooked up to a bunch of strange wires and reminiscent-of-anal-probe instruments and having my inability to a) fall asleep and b) stay asleep analyzed by men and women in lab coats. of course since it is nigh near impossible for me to fall asleeep at home on our stupendous bed, it would be even more impossible to fall asleep while hooked up to a bunch of strange wires and reminiscent-of-anal-probe instruments while being observed by men and women in lab coats.
so here is a warning, and don't say i didn't warn ya, cause here is what i'm doing - warning ya! i can't drink and i can't sleep. something's bound to get loose and jiggly soon, and when it finally goes (and go it shall) i cannot be held responsible for the consequences. ok?
today we shall eat thai. possibly we shall go for a drink. possibly i shall consume one. or not. then we shall retire to bed really late, and i shall lie there for hours listening to the charleston beat of my heart thinking about Things. this chicken don't lie. thus it shall be.
hopefully when i go insane it will be interesting from a literary point of view, so at least y'all can get something out of it. no?

08 August, 2006

some early morning haruspicy

well, i have split open a carcass, poked around it with a stick (but not just any stick, you dig?), and this is what the entrails have told me regarding my immediate future:

1. today i am off to edmonton for two weeks of various shenanigans and alcohol consumption, the firstest and foremostest of which is my one and only, beloved cousin's wedding to a kick-ass girl
2. when i return i shall pack furiously (cause it's the only way to pack) and on the weekend we are off for a cross country move back home in a u-haul
3. unpacking of said u-haul
4. long weekend of celebrating our 5th wedding anniversary in the rockies somewhere, most likely in waterton national park
5. more detailed unpacking, followed by job searching and finally working for a living like a respectable human being instead of lounging around in my droopy underwear all day blogging like a mad woman in the proverbial attic

so the gist of all this, my chickens, is that for the next little while our communication will be sporadic at best, so you can catch up on your classics of russian literature or whatnot. you know me - i will blog when i can, but if i cannot, i will still be thinking of you. and in the case of the lucky few, i will probably be drinking with you. good bye and careful with the solzhenitsyn, the guy is depressing.

04 August, 2006

here i am, rock you like a hurricane

9. the baddest-ass heavy metal rocker lyrics in the known universe have got to be bon jovi's "when the world gets in my face/i say, have a nice day." oooh nasty! HAVE A NICE DAY MOTHERFUCKERS! that's right. THAT's what i could have told the wal-mart smoking dude. but i didn't. i guess i'm just not badass enough.

8. i rarely wake up with words on my lips. more often than not it's the taste of last night's excesses on my furry palate, but this one particular morning i woke up with the word "palimpsest" literally on my lips - i whispered it as i woke. i woke up knowing how to spell this word exactly, including that strange and extraneous sounding last "s,"which is odd considering i knew nothing else about it and, as far as i could tell, i had never heard it before. now thank god for google because i could immediately satisfy my curiosity regarding my brain's hijinks. as soon as i read the definition i realised that i must have come across this word before, during the course of my english honours degree. i mean my brain, mighty though it may be (snurf!), would not conjure so archaic and odd a word out of the swirling molecules of the so-called thin air. right? but i still could not recollect it at all. zeugma? sure! i remember zeugma! we go waaay back! though the particular zeugma i met could better be described as a syllepsis. still, i knew who was who with zeugma. but palimpsest? huh? what could my brain be telling me? that any writing is by definition the denial of the writing of those that came before? that i myself am a palimpsest, scraping away the genetic writing of my parents and replacing it with my own? that we are out of post-it notes? what? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME, BRAIN? oooh, brain's just too smart for me.

7. my arms and my legs hurt. sleeping on this futon is not good for my apparently rapidly aging body. four more sleeps and i will be sleeping on our super duper extra comfortabulous grown-up bed. in bedding that has a thread count higher than my IQ. and eating with nice matching silverware. oh, so very bourgeois! i still have to figure out what to wear to the wedding. well, to the actual wedding ceremony i will wear my old wedding dress, and lest you reel back in horror, take heed of the fact that my wedding dress is nothing of the sort - it is a wine coloured evening gown which is lovely and most definitely not white. i mean, i wasn't gonna fool anyone anyways, so why wear a colour that does not work on me? but after we leave the church i want to change into something a little more FOXXXY. or perhaps SEXXXY. or just plain shorter. although if i'm gonna be spilling wine down my front (as is wont to happen at these types of functions) my wedding dress would be the perfect colour. ponder this, i shall.

6. this morning is perfect. the birds are singing, the sun is shining (but in a dainty, well-mannered way), the air is cool, the scratchy-voiced drunks next door are pouring beer on their corn flakes, the beep-beep-beep of the recycling truck is sounding off in the distance making me feel that all is well with the universe. well, bits of it anyway. we're off for a weekend of beaching, hammocking, imbibing and relaxation and on tuesday, i fly home. things are so damn perfect i am beginning to fear getting hit by a truck. that's what movies taught me - things go too well, here comes the truck. the truck of justice. the karma truck.

5. last night mr. m and i watched la double vie de veronique, a beautiful, if slightly pretentious, polish-french film by krzysztof kieślowski, with the most amazing soundtrack by zbigniew preisner. i have seen this film time and again literally for the one minute long concert scene. the music makes me cry, every. bloody. time. i'm like pavlov's dog on this topic. sing sing, bawl bawl. like clockwork. i do wonder, though, what is it with french films that have this weird ethereal dialogue? do people really turn to their lovers post-coitally, and whisper, "i think i am mourning"? mr. m would pour me a drink and go back to reading. that kind of shit scares him, and well it should! i would also recommend les trois couleurs: bleu, blanc et rouge, by the same duo. the decalogue, though generally seen as a masterpiece, is just too grim for yours truly. but if you have a strong, resilient, shred-resistant soul, by all means see it.

4. i have these ridges on my thumbnails and when i lack anything else to hope for, i hope that they grow out flat. this makes me think that the basis of the human condition is a perpetual state of hopefulness. of course hoping for your nails to grow in straight is ridiculous but even more ridiculous would be hoping for world peace and a middle east ceasefire, so i stick to my nails.

3. i dreamt about my crazy ex boyfriend again, and as per usual for these dreams, woke up feeling freaked out. i don't fear him in a physical way. i don't think he'd take a crowbar and go apeshit on my ass or anything, but every time i see him, whether in real life or in a dream, i get a little worried. after all, this is the man who called me at our brand new place, days after we'd gotten a new phone number, after i had been away for a year, and had gotten a new last name in the interim. how he managed to track me down is beyond me but you can bet on it that our new phone number will be unlisted. he is the man who, nearly a decade after our break-up, wanted to get together because "he needed closure." scary terry, please go away. i am not the woman of your diseased imagination, and i am not the easily manipulated kid you snagged all those years ago.

2. bikini waxing is far far easier when someone else does it for you. how do i know, you ask? well, there's a story to tell but i lack the necessary fortitude to tell it. let's just say it involves self-peeling hot wax, a crotch, a kitchen, much pain and many, many tears. and chunks of wax in the afore-mentioned crotch for weeks afterward. the point is you know it's going to hurt and so you can't do it. a stranger knows it's going to hurt you and doesn't give a hot damn. i highly recommend that if you do attempt self waxing, start with the legs. much easier. also, this happened many many years ago. i wouldn't be that stupid now. well...not about waxing my privates anyways.

1. speaking of garbage trucks (were we? i didn't notice!), why does garbage smell the same the world over? i have smelled mexican garbage, czech garbage, australian garbage, polish garbage, canadian garbage, german garbage, austrian garbage, and american garbage. i have smelled ethnic neighbourhood garbage of all kinds. i have smelled winter-in-northern-alberta garbage and summer-in-new-york garbage. and it all. smells. the same. what gives? people eat different things, consume different things, break and reject different things and yet the mass of human post-consumerist waste always smells the same. please let me know if you have any ideas on this lofty subject.

03 August, 2006

a fine kettle of tunafish

i dropped by wal-mart today - and before you get on your moral high horse, let me just say that i cannot find those tasty mini flavoured tuna cans anywhere else, capiche? so i'm walking out and this fat grouchy looking old bastard passes me and as he does, he flicks his still-smoking cigarette on the ground. so i say to him, in passing as it were, "you dropped something." he turns to look around in case i am a good samaritan and his wallet is lying on the asphalt, but no, all there is is a cigarette and my attitude. so as i walk on i hear him yell, "fuck shit." my first thought was that his suggestion presented a slight physiological difficulty, but i didn't bother explaining that to him. really, what could one say to such a pithy comeback?

stream of consciousness blather

1. there are four peach pits on the windowsill beside my computer because i can't be bothered to throw them out. if i throw them out new ones will just take their place and it all seems so bloody pointless. no, i am not depressed. it is, for a change, somewhat cool and pleasant out (hah! 29C feels cool now!) but i just woke up and am a trifle cranky as i tend to be at these moments of newly reestablished consciousness.

2. weird, weird night. the dream theme for last night was apparently "ducks" because there were many many ducks and ducklings. possibly there were some goslings as well; i'm fuzzy on the cute young bird distinctions. but they did get in the way of me getting down and dirty on the dancefloor when sting suddenly appeared at this nice dark little bar i was at. then the son of ozzy (no, not that son, a different tall cute one with long red hair and a puffy sky blue down vest and a slight crush on me) got up and started to sing as well. and then, after tripping on more ducks i went to hang out with the parents of a newborn baby which, like most paintings of the christ child (i'm on a jesus roll here, people!) looked to be about two. i attempted to swaddle the baby (hey, i'm told they like it) but i used saran wrap instead of swaddling clothes and the result was a temporary but rather disturbing breathing distress for the baby. me bad. do not give me your babies to swaddle! do not give me your ducks or goslings either. i am a safety hazard. oh, and i also walked a cat in the pouring rain. so do not give me your cats to walk. all in all, it was another busy night.

3. my left hand burned all night long. i think it might be one of two things. i chopped hot peppers yesterday and the sting refused to leave my hands even though i washed and re-washed them with the single minded determination of an OCD sufferer. then, before bedtime i rubbed some german horse chestnut cream on my varicose veins. no, this is not some strange abberation on my part - it is supposed to help. however the writing on the tube is only in german and apparently does not have directions for use (i asked) so they were probably in the box i recycled and said something like this: "wash hands immediately following use. prolonged exposure can lead to burning and eventual loss of limb. side effects including insanity, diarrhea, hair loss, hearing loss, echolalia and weird duck dreams have been noted." or not. but it's still tingling now.

4. the goddamn sun is shining despite a 60% promise of rain. bastard sun, i mutter, i loathe you currently! stick to your environment canada-appointed schedule and do not show your swarthy face until tomorrow, preferrably when i am on the beach. you hear me? humpf! he never listens.

5. i just realised that i am so very very polish in this blog despite its canuck title, what with the brined pickles, the black turnip shampoo, the horse chestnut vein cream. let me tell you - it is The Polish Way (and you know that when i resort to proper capitalization, things are Important). so, yes, i am polish. i knew what st. john's wort looked like before i was 5. polish people like their herbal remedies and natural therapeutics. well, maybe not so much anymore - perhaps along with their newfound love of pre-sliced wonder bread and processed cheese slices they have discovered the joys of ritalin and xanax. i somehow doubt that, though; in poland you can still go to any pharmacy and get yourself some stomach drops for 2zł (about 0.75$) and man, oh man, do they ever work well. a couple drops in a glass of water, one gulp of herbal horror and your gastric functions return to normal post haste. really. so i remain very polish. how comforting. but I STILL HATE RAISINS!

6. i love numbering things - it gives me a feeling of slight control over the universe. also, it makes me feel like i am writing things that matter: who, after all, would number drivel? who would bother to number trivial, arbitrary non-sensical blatherings? who indeed?

7. i believe this is a reiteration of a point from the lost post, something that's been on my mind lately. i started to (officially) wear make-up in grade ten (before then i'd surreptitiously smear on some lipstick on my way to school and then smear it off on my way home). because i lacked skill and practice in manhandling the eyeliner, the result in the early years was an unintentional goth-lite. the older i got the less i wore. i was never one for the full wallpaper of foundation and all. really just paint-the-eyeholes, powder the nose, colour the lips and away you go. i just kept readjusting the amount of darkness in the paint-the-eyeholes department. but the point is, i would never go out unpainted. no mascara - no leave house. this changed when i was living in fort mcmurray. in a town that considers 10K worth of gold around one's neck and pants facing the right way stylish...well, let's just say the standards do tend to slip a bit. i started going to work without make-up and then just kept at it. at this point i have spent the last 2 years almost entirely without make-up. and you know what? i kinda like my face as is! i used to feel bald and turtle-like without make-up and now i look and i like this chick that i see. the other plus is that when i do go out and ho myself up a wee bit, it makes me feel all swanky and spectacular, and the older you get the more you need that feeling.

8. i keep having these identity crises at night. i have been waking up and looking around in a panic not knowing who i am nor what gender, not knowing who is in bed with me, not knowing where i am. it's really odd and disturbing and please make it go away. i wish i could have a panic attack like normal people instead of hiding it in the depths of my unconscious for the 3-in-the-morning me to deal with.

9. lhasa's "soon this space will be too small" invariably makes me soggy-eyed. but in a good way. i can't explain it.

10. now we're up to 10 so i'll have to keep writing because i decided to scoff at this metric thang. well, not the whole metric thang because i love the metric system - it is logical and beautifully symmetrical. but i just don't want to be a slave to it - if i want to make 17 points, i should be able to do so without feeling all twitchy about it. you see, i read somewhere that OCD is a continuum and all of us experience some symptoms which scared me because when i listen to our car stereo i set the volume to specific numbers - i tend to like them even rather than odd, except for 37 of which i am inordinately fond. i also suffer from other numerical neuroses, so as you can see, boys and girls, i need to fight the swirling neurons of my own brain and in doing so diss the metric man a wee bit. he won't mind. he is very well mannered. aren't you, metric man?

11. tomorrow we go to my parents' place for the long weekend and we will be joined by our friend from chicago. much fun was had by us in chicago. unfortunately he has far greater staying power than either one of us and so two nights out ended up with us sleeping in the parked volvo while he partied on. he would return when the bar closed at 4 am, with sweat pouring down his face, cheeks rosy and exclaim that he was no longer the man he once was and lacked the ability to really party. u-huh, we'd mutter sleepily from the back seat. but we did pull one all-nighter: dancing at the berlin all night, the requisite greasy breakfast, the loooong walk to the car in increasingly cold weather, peeing in the playground...ahhh, the good old days. or day. the last time i pulled an all-nighter was 10 years ago. and that's about all i'm good for - once every 10 years. i really hate going to bed when the birds are getting their morning freak on. i wish they'd shut up - i am trying to pretend it's still night. because you see, i am a slave to my diurnal/nocturnal rhythms. i was always an easy child to put to bed - dark=sleep, light=awake. easy. so when people say the reason i can't party like it's 1999 is because it ain't 1999 and i am old, i just laugh haughtily and say, hah! because i NEVER could party like it's 1999. not even in 1999. the only thing i can handle on a semi-regular basis is having friends over for copious amounts of wine at my place and having them linger till the wee hours because then i can crawl to bed before the goddamn birds start to make a racket. so if there is an amazing dj playing a midnight show and i can barely stay up, don't poke fun at my age. it is not my age, it is my biology.

12. i love how patient mr. m is with me. i hate, however, how i lose him to the internet most evenings. is it okay to have fantasies involving the laptop, a blowtorch and a really big stone hammer?

13. i want a pirate theme party! we'll hobble around on our wooden legs, say aaaarrrr! a lot and try to avoid getting defecated on by our parrots. sound like fun? we'll drink rum, swap eye-patches and make people walk the plank. i do live on the third floor so it ought to be fun. wanna come?

14. have you ever wanted to control the leader of the free world? now you can! but it's not fair that he gets all the fun. i want a balloon universe of my very own. can you share georgie? who knew you were so flexible, georgie! georgie, you look kind of tired.

02 August, 2006

pizza pizza!

there is an old lady walking down the middle of my street wearing an immaculately laundered white lace top and black leggings, intermittently muttering and screaming obscenities at no one in particular in that scratchy white trash voice. that's the kind of neighbourhood i live in, in case you haven't noticed. she's gone now.

one day mr. m and i were walking down princess street in kingston (ontario has many many many royal sounding place names. it gets tiresome after a while). because we were hungry we started conjuring up ideas for imaginative nouvelle-cousine/fusion pizza toppings, which somehow became alphabetized. we laughed and laughed and laughed. yes, that's the kind of intellectual discourse you can expect from me. i thought i might share with you, gentle readers. i know how hard it is to come up with ideas for dinner some days.
here goes.

the alphabetized pizza menu for your cooking and consuming consideration:

anchovies, avocado and apricots
blueberries, brie and bologna
carrots, camembert and caviar
duck, dill and doppelrhamstufel
edam, escargots and endive
fishballs, fennel and figs
goat, garlic and gravlax
ham, headcheese and horseradish (not for the faint of heart)
italian sausage, idaho potatoes and ice cream (cheating, i know, but you try it!)
jam, jicama and jarlsberg
kiwi, kidneys and kefalotyri
lamb, liver and lentil (high protein, this one)
mint, mascarpone and monkfish (mmm, mmm good!)
nutmeg, nectarines and neufchatel
onion, oyster and okra
pineapple, porkchops and passionfruit (my nod to the ubiquitous hawaiian)
quince, quinua and quail
rabbit, ribs and radicchio
squid, squash and soynuts
tofu, tomato and truffles
unagi, uropygium, ubriaco (this one was a lot of work and its relative tastiness will most probably depend precisely on what type of bird you de-rump as well as the freshness of the eel. obviously.)
vanilla bean, vermouth and veal
walnut, watercress and winegums
xnipec, xanadu and xenurine (i will not guarantee the tenderness or flavour of the xenurine, sorry. however, the cheese story is a good one)
yogurt, yak and yeast
zucchini, zabaglione and ziti (uncle luigi's favourite)

my everlasting gratitude to cheese.com. i wish i'd snagged that name - you'd be writing to moi@cheese.com. it makes me smile, even to contemplate it.
okay, what're you waiting for? GET COOKING!

onward christian soldier

well jools, looks like i finally found something you might really really enjoy! wouldn't it be cool if you drove up to the next act in this snazzy little number? i bet the gas mileage is wicked! jools? you are still reading this, right? jools? JOOOOOOOOOLS!!!!!

01 August, 2006

mini mimi me and good old arvo

because it is too damn hot to do anything other than lie breathlessly on the floor reading, i've been working on my mimi backlog. i am now in the spring of 2002 and have finally figured out that the sense of deja vu i keep feeling is due to my recent use of the very same links/ideas/thoughts that i am reading in mimi's blog, except she did it four years ago, and better (i.e. smarter - i am far far lazier than mimi and lack her frenetic energy). like in this post, she mentions arvo pärt, whom i only just discovered last week thanks to my father's incredible store of knowledge regarding any music jazz or classical. so here's to you mimi - when i grow up (in four years, roughly) i wanna be just like you. and to the rest of you - go listen to some arvo pärt. he rocks...ok, he doesn't exactly rock, but his musical minimalism is beautiful, unlike most plinky-plonky masturbatory modern symphonic stuff that sets my teeth on edge. go now! go!

miscellanea (yes, again, just shut up and take it)

did you know that one of the tests for psychopathy used to be whether you looked at your own poop? they obviously had to remove that one from the questionnaire when they realised that it would render pretty much everyone a psychopath. oh, except for this guy! do YOU look at your poop? you should! oh yes, you should!

as i was researching poop for you ("poop-for-you! the chocolatiest snack!") i accidentally stumbled onto this. talk about uncomfortable giggles, but giggle i did. i especially liked "jesus made me do it." obviously i am pro-choice: i do have a brain, and i do not join the leader of the free world in believing the earth to have been created several thousand years ago. but i also think that people should be responsible and realise that actions have consequences, so i found this website to be a hilarious and witty skewering of pretty much all sides of the debate, including pro-choice, pro-life, bush's education policy and the religious right.

now if all those pictures of george w made you hot and bothered, i have some balloon porn just for you. WARNING: it's very explicit - there is penetration.

and if that don't thrill ya, perhaps you want a new hobby? sign up before midnight and you get a set of ginsu knives, ABSOLUTELY FREE!

in other news - it's goddamn hot. HOT. H.O.T. i think that the eternal fires of damnation would be an improvement at this point. i love this site - it uses a lot of CAPITAL LETTERS and exclamation points!!! in this, it reminds me of my blog, if my blog was multicoloured and said things like "Hell is inside the earth!" in increasingly large font.
if you scroll down, you can actually listen to the "scientifically" recorded sounds of hell! and witness many grammatical errors! but wait! there's more! "THE EARTH'S INNER CORE HAS A TEMPERATURE OF OVER 12,000 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT!" hmmmm, kinda like my shitty apartment at the moment. i think i'll pass.
"YOU will see HELL. . .YOU will smell HELL. . .YOU will breathe HELL. . .YOU will hear HELL. . .YOU will feel HELL. . .YOU WILL BE HELL. . ." yes, with all these ellipses, i certainly am IN hell RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT! and, as we are told "Jesus Christ took hell very serious." too bad he didn't take proper grammar just as "serious."
here's a question - why aren't there any fundamentalist christians out there who don't sound like their IQ points hover near the mid-double digits? why? if intelligent design is as intelligent as its proponents, then we are in deep deep caca.

on the flip side - there's also heaven. remind me of this when i'm freezing my ass off in fort mcmurray. or better yet, don't. i might hurt you.

for more whacky adventures in the land of unrelated factoids, join me in tomorrow's episode where i say, "why, doctor brunner! that is a VERY large syringe!"

the good old days

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