28 December, 2006

baby jesus is now officially here!

great christmas moments:

1. driving my car down the road formerly known as calgary trail north, singing along to john lennon's "give peace a chance," pausing in the christmas sing-along to periodically yell "FUCK!" at the guy in front of me. then realising the irony. oh the irony. give peace a chance indeed.

2. having my friends actually consume vast quantities of my homemade cookies. eat, friends. EAT! it pleases the polish part* of me.

3. seeing people whom i haven't seen in anywhere from 2 to 5 years. people rock. wait...correction. MY people rock. other people suck.

4. popping milk thistle like there's no tomorrow in a desperate attempt to reduce wine induced liver damage. every day the same old mantra "i will not drink tonight" followed by regular drinking. every bloody night. and lest you think i spent christmas convulsing in a pool of my own vomit on the kitchen floor, it wasn't that kind of drinking. more of a social wine consumption that lubricated social discourse. but still. every night. bleerch. i'll try to make tonight wine free. right.

5. eating so much polish food that all i begin to crave is cheese. largely because cheese is nowhere on the polish christmas menu. my aunt reacts by craving potato pancakes, which she doesn't even like all that much, largely because they too are not christmas food. all year long one waits and waits, dreams of the 12 traditional delicacies, only to reject them in favour of cheese and fried potatoes. humans. so odd.

6. christmas music. you can say what you want, but i love christmas music.

*because you never know. traditionally i admit to being 99% polish because napoleon's army did at one point cross poland and, as we all know, polish womens are hott!

23 December, 2006

sodomy! yay!

1. you know it's both a good night and a good relationship when the two of you yell out "sodomy!" in unison in a crowded restaurant.

2. you know it's a good friend who does not leave right at that moment.

3. highlevel diner veggie burgers are hugely overrated. their french fries, however, rule.

4. am i drinking again? well, maybe just a little bit.

5. goshdarn it all to heck, i sure enjoy a good buzz.

6. hey, i cut my hair this morning! got an updated 20's bob thing happening and i feel good. the hair, plus maybe a little bit of the booze. just a little bit.

7. julie says i write too long so i am done.

22 December, 2006

christmas: baby jesus-flavoured marketing campaign

1. the theme of this week's patients was "elderly german." scores and scores of them. great personalities and nice teeth, and great how any deep seated cultural animosities just fade when one is in exile from the motherland. not that i feel exiled here or anything, i am just speaking figuratively. ok?

2. i want to get myself a small yappy lapdog and name him foucault, so then i can go around and quote him all day long like pretentious english students, of whom i was once a member (see how well i can use "whom?"). i can say things like "foucault said, yip yip yip" or "foucault thinks it's okay to pee on the rug" and everyone will wonder if i am crazy or if i am privy to some esoteric foucaultian knowledge and lest the latter be true and they make fools of themselves, they will agree with me and we will get into a heated discussion of the panopticon, the unequal gaze, and the modern prison system and the terminology will be flying fast and furious and in the meantime i will only have been talking about toilet training my dog. suckers!

3. did i ever tell you we don't do christmas gifts in our family? did i ever tell you how much more i love christmas now? did i ever tell you how i gloat over the poor souls whose scrunched up faces fill the malls, and whose bitter swearing at their own stupid fate imbues whatever gifts they purchase with dark smelly energy? did i ever tell you how they look at me half in wonder and half in frenzied jealous loathing when i serenely tell them that we don't do christmas gifts? because really, why bother? everyone can get their own desires fulfilled, and thus we focus on eating vast amounts of polish food, drinking vast amounts of argentinian wine, and sitting around laughing at the silliness of the world that surrounds us, smug bastards that we are.

4. lest you get the idea that we are stingy and mean, whenever any member of our family travels to an exotic location, they usually purchase art and give it to other members of la familia. also, we will spontaneously buy something that we think perfect for a particular person. even in june. (!) so we do gifts, just whenever we feel like it, not when forced into it by a baby jesus-flavoured marketing campaign.

5. along similar lines, i refuse to ask patients how their christmas shopping is going because guess what - i don't care! i ask about their plans, their families, their baking, but i refuse to equate christmas readiness with an empty wallet.

6. speaking of frenzied shopping and all, i bought myself a pair of cashmere lounging pants (see? i don't need gifts! i am perfectly able to satisfy the desires of my own ass). so if you see me and i have a faraway look in my eyes and a small smile playing on my lips, it's because my ass feels so damn good. if you want, you can touch it a little bit. but only a little bit.

20 December, 2006

fragile snacks and lazy ass monkeyfication

so it's been days and days without me and i hear the world's suicide rate is rapidly rising. but i've been baking cookies, you see. cookies. yes. moi. baking. shocking and alarming, true, but i've made cookies and realised that although i am not into diamond rings, overpriced vehicles or caviar, i want a goddamn shiny jaguar of a kitchen and i want it NOW. baking, as lovely as it is, as much as it fills my heart with gentle warmth, my gut with rippling blubber and my house with the aroma of ginger and nutmeg (displacing for once the garlic fumes that mark our ethnicity), it also fills my kitchen with layers upon layers of cookie pans, bowls, mixers, cookbooks and the stainless steel kitchen utensils that mister monkey displays an alarming fondness for (you wanna see the guy's eyes light up? show him a slotted spoon. seriously. it's weird.). so when/if we move into our newly purchased house, i want the whole shebang. i want large gleaming counters, bottom-freezer fridge, gas stove, and a whole shitload of drawers, shelves and lazy susans ready to produce, at my slightest whim, a spatula, a garlic press or a blender, while maintaining a zen-like clutter free atmosphere. got that, santy? you listening fat man?

so, what else is new? not much. except we are being swamped by cards, emails, photos, letters and, in one case, hand coloured limited edition prints from friends all over the world. all this fills me with a warm fuzzy feeling at the pit of my belly that, for once, is unrelated to excessive alcohol consumption, but also makes me a tad anxious. you see, we don't do cards. every year we send out three cards to elderly relations and that's that. now if you are one of the wonderful people who has sent one of the above and received no response let me assure you that i do think of you, appreciate you and think you are the bee's knees, but i suck at cards. i truly do. and lately i suck at responding to emails as well. and letters. largely i have been keeping busy breathing and drinking, which leaves little time for correspondence.
so a shout out to all of my spectacular friends - you rock my world, you are funny, intelligent, unreasonably good looking, sweet, warm and generous, and you are the reason i get up most mornings (that and the pesky job), and please please please don't feel slighted. the real reason we don't do cards is complicated and twofold:

The Real Reason (Complicated and Twofold):

1. we are total idiots who also happen to be dreadfully lazy
2. see above

so if you get tired of sending one way correspondence and you wanna come over here and kick our monkey loving asses, come on down! i baked cookies!

14 December, 2006

in which i drool a little, lean precariously to the left, have another sip of wine, and create a literary masterpiece

or: drink, drink, type, type

counting things:

22 pairs of shoes (hot pink kitten heeled thongs, boots, sandals, runners, mary-janes) slung over the western pedestrian part of highlevel bridge. why?

1 silver haired grandma downing a glass of wine at milan's. this senior citizen sure was thirsty. you go, grandma!

7 minutes to collect rent from parental tenant. tenant seemed not to recognize me, even when i used special code words like "collect" and "rent." same tenant personally phoned me yesterday to let me know i could come and collect rent today. huh?

45 minutes walk to whyte avenue

47 minutes walk back home (2 extra minutes to count shoes - i counted them extra slow an' careful-like)

19 minutes spent wondering why whyte avenue residents don't gather up their rusty pitchforks and rustle up a vigilante posse. a few beatings administered with surgical precision and the bar violence will shift back to west edmonton mall where it belongs. backwards-baseball-cap-wearing yahoos, load your buxom trixies into the pick-up truck and go drink elsewhere!

countless hours spent waiting for mister monkey who is out drinking with "the boys." come to think of it, i assume he's out drinking with the boys. perhaps he's out drinking with a bunch of teenage hookers in some crack house in sherwood park, in which case i shall be sharpening my very own pitchfork (after all, what's vigilante justice without a pitchfork?).

8.5 hours spent working today. here's a suggestion to all you...ahem...delicate patients out there. if you are going to make "ouch" faces, it might be a good idea to wait with them until i am actually touching you. they are far more effective that way. just a thought. although the melodrama is always amusing and helps while away the long hours.

1 glass of wine consumed before and during writing. i can so multitask!

13 December, 2006

dash-dang it all to heck!

wow. three days with no posting. three whole days. what, oh what, have i been doing these three days, you ask? was i out in the arctic throwing leaflets at norwegian whaling ships informing them of the high cholesterol content of whale blubber? was i out in a third world country of your choice, airlifting victims of bloodbath of your choice, while delivering supplies to médecins sans frontières? was i out healing the sick? feeding the hungry? was i at least covering my naked body in paint and throwing myself repeatedly on a canvas? or even reading a good book and snacking on home baked cookies? the answer to all of the above is no. i was working.

let me say, first of all, that i like my work. (i especially like the slip of paper that i receive twice a month, with a satisfying number of zeros and dollar signs on it.) i like the flexibility (work on a friday?! are you MAD?!?). i even like the patients (for the most part). but i would much prefer to be filthy stinking rich and sit in a hammock all day while that girl from the spa massages my scalp (spa girl! i LOVE you!). i would prefer to invite my closest friends to a caribbean island instead of our small condo with a cheese-infested toilet. i would like to spend new year's eve in a cabin with a roaring fire and a stuffy british butler with a tray full of drinks.

but wait, you say (oh, are we in a talkative mood again?), i thought you were an earth-loving, tree-hugging, whale-humping peacenick, beatnik, leftie pinko. and at this point i smile gently, shrug my hemp-covered shoulders, and tell you to go fuck yourself, all the while swaying gently in the lotus position. well, okay. maybe not. maybe you are right. and maybe i would not tell you to fuck off (cause then who'd listen to my blather?)(also, anyone who knows me knows i can barely sit cross legged without hip replacement surgery, nevermind the lotus position). and maybe i am both more and less materialistic than i pretend to be. because despite my diatribes against suv drivers and thoughtless consumers, i too own many many pairs of shoes. and yet, i am sometimes this close to giving up and starting an eco-farm somewhere where i will teach orphan goats to weave hemp on looms made from ecologically harvested bamboo, though whether one can make looms from bamboo is entirely outside my scope of expertise. as is weaving as a whole. and goats. and eco-farming. and pretty much anything other than (most) gums, (some) literature and (a good portion of) food.

but hey, i'm glad we had this little conversation. (in which i admitted to nothing, explained less, and blathered a typical whole big bunch).

so yeah, bye.

10 December, 2006

sunday morning blues

i finally managed to crawl out of bed a couple of hours ago, consumed high sugar party leftovers and am feeling that really uncomfortable belly buzz. sugar and i don't mix in the mornings. i should have known better, but perchance my thinking faculties were dulled by wine and a 4am bedtime.

the party was a rousing success, its star was my six fat dip made entirely of butter, lard, margarine, olive oil and cheese, deep fried in pork drippin's, and flavoured lightly with spinach and artichokes. kidding about the ingredients, not the fat content. future heart problems can lay blame at my door. mini quiches were also consumed. and many many cookies.

and then there was a bunch of boring old boohoo about how horrible i am to people and blah blah blah, you didn't miss anything.

08 December, 2006

two pineapples short of a carmen miranda

in an emotional flip favoured by bipolar depressives everywhere, i am now excited! because! we are having! a PARTY! woohoo! also, studies found that alcohol is a depressant! really! did you know this? did you figure it out by reading my blog?

so - eggs are boiling, white beans are cooking, MUCH food was purchased and awaits chopping, sauteeing and general mistreatment at my hands. rejoice! you have been spared the dreaded North American "Cheese" Tray From Hell.

also, there are now many mandarin oranges at my house. many. lots. multiple amounts of lotsessness.

and finally, file this one under "good god, and they say she is smart?" guess who was cleaning out the fridge, found a big hunk of organic cottage cheese demonstrating its complete lack of chemical preservatives while simultaneously showing its support for diversity by turning all manner of rainbow colours*, took the cheese-hunk and dumped it (whole) into the toilet. guess whose toilet isn't flushing so well. come on! guess! i give you one guess.

*which did a lot to explain the strange smell that has lately been wafting from the fridge. wow! i bet you ALL wanna come to my house and eat now, no?

booze! + computer! = blah blah blah!

yes, gentle readers. you are correct. it isn't even fully 3 o'clock yet and i am smackeroonied. just walked (somewhat unevenly) back from a work christmas luncheon whose crowning glory was dr. stewart's homemade eggnog that had enough courvoisier in it to make a man and a half of moi. on an empty stomach, no less. and that's when the day looked up. not that it was bad, per se, just a little odd. cold water this morning threatened to turn into cold water all day and if you want to see me in a really satanic mood, make me wash my hair in cold water. luckily the mystical "they" got their poop in a group and managed to fix (again) whatever the fuckety fuck is wrong (again) with the plumbing in this building and i got to rip the fur off my legs in steamy hot comfort (insert disturbing visual here). also, i seem thoroughly uninspired as far as this tomorrow party thingy goes. decorating this morning was all about removing decorations from boxes, placing them haphazardly around the room and then sighing in resignation/frustration and putting them away again, only to repeat above action. why? last year i made it all purty! i'm pretty sure i did, anyhow. also, as far as the prep work goes, i seem unable to do anything at all. first of all literally unable to get my car out of the slushy depths of its parking spot and second of all metaphorically unable to get my drowsy ass out of the slushy depths of "oh whatever, we'll just open up a pack of chips and a bottle of vodka and everyone will be happy." luckily a lot of people offered to bring things and i hope they do. oh boy i hope they do. if you're reading this and coming to the party, don't despair. i do have my cheese platter from today's luncheon. you may partake of tasteless, rubbery north american "cheeses" (the word in this context so requires quotation marks -after italian centre cheeses, blecch, you have NO idea!) and some lovely garnishes that i can let you sprinkle salt on for full gastronomical pleasure. also, we have some mayo in the fridge. so yo, come on down!
okay, to do list for this afternoon:
1. sober the fuck up. pronto.
2. have a drink...wait, no. dig out car. drive it to the multitude of places that require my attention.
3. have a goddamn drink...NO YET! start preparing yummy and delicious foods for tomorrow's gathering because goddamn it all to the nether regions, you are polish and to the poles food = love.
4. can i have a drink now, please? possibly.
5. wait for mister monkey to return from niagara falls, try not to fall into a drunken stupor since that would only reinforce his ideas about my (alleged) alcoholic tendencies, and if i can't meet him at the door fresh as a daisy, i'd still rather not have him be forced to fish my head out of a toilet filled to the brim with vomit. not least of all because i just cleaned the bloody toilet.

p.s. anyone want to explain to me why i love parties but am filled with a nameless dread, fear and trepidation right before, fantasizing about a nice full blown case of stomach flu, with a side of ebola, which would allow me to spend the evening in a nice quiet hospital room instead, with the quiet metronome of the IV drip keeping me sane? why did i have to go and throw a party? WHY, JEBUS, WHY?!?!??! and why do i have to go through this goddamn panic every time? and where in the hell is mister monkey when you need him? and i need him now...sob....hick....sob...mumble incoherently while blowing nose into shirt.
go away now. i'm a very busy woman.

p.p.s. bastards upstairs are doing a major and increasingly LOUD reno and i am this close to going upstairs with my fake (but very realistic looking) gun and having some fun. the only thing keeping me back is the fact that we don't have any household budget set aside for bail. none at all.

06 December, 2006

weather related rant or: use the correct word already

this november and early days of december have brought us more snow than i remember seeing in alberta in a long, long time, and i absolutely love it. if there must be a leafless dayless grey season, might as well cover it with snow. except mother nature is acting like a slightly senile alcoholic with bipolar disorder lately. -25C! -10C! hey, how about +5C! and the thing that irks me even more than sloshing to work through roughly two meters of slush in my comely hip waders is having some wanker dj on the brain-rotting easy rock station gush about how it's "nice out."
listen all you mentally deficient buttwipes of the radio universe (and assorted hangers on)! what it is, is "warm out," got that? warm. as in above zero temperatures. WARM. W. A. R. M.
merriam-webster tells us that "nice" means pleasing, aggreeable, appropriate and fitting, polite, kind, none of which apply to this godforsaken filthy bog of a week. ok? the thing that i find fascinating (in a quietly-sharpening-my-axe-behind-my-back sort of way) is that people have taken this word, lapped it up and run with it. i have patients come in, seething at the state of their boots and vehicles, and bitch about how the forecast tells them it'll be "nice out" for the next few days. am i missing something? if you hate it, how can it be nice? it's warm. do i need to do the capitalization/spelling thingie again to get your attention? no, i didn't think so. fuck.

forecast: evil

05 December, 2006

step right up

worked late tonight and mister monkey came in to get a filling done at the same time, so we left the office together and motored down to tokyo express for some quick third rate sushi. highlight of the evening? watching mr. m try to hoover whole rolls while frozen on the right side of his face. he kept asking if the tongue was crunchy and i kept a look out for that tell-tale dribble of blood down his chin. which never happened.

04 December, 2006

my grandma dragged the colorado river, and all i got was this lousy corpse

short and sweet.

i keep reading other people's blogs and they seem to get pretty regular comments unlike me. so should i get more offensive? or more defensive? what does a girl have to do to get some feedback around here? anyone?... anyone?... bueller? ..bueller? ...bueller?... (80's pop culture reference for all you kids out there).

fluffy pink bathrobe, laptop, waiting for mister monkey to return and make me smile. my life. pretty damn good.

03 December, 2006

a whole squadron of spider monkeys

hey! you know what? i am now a card carrying (fake) member of the progressive conservative party (to which i will link no more, because you might get the wrong idea and start sending me PC/republican themed shit and that would not be at all good).

today we did our part and voted for the Lesser Evil, although i still fear that Lesser Evil Candidate pulled this "hey, i may be right wing, but i am a huggable lightly left-leaning right wing" specifically to get people like me, mister monkey, and the gay and lesbian community to vote him in, whereupon he will cackle violently, rip the mr. nice guy latex mask off his horribly deformed reactionary fascist face, and proceed to let the oil industry engage alberta in an unlubricated butt-fuck for the remainder of the century. sigh. choices, the bane of adult existence (and also its sweet sweet joy - a whole tub of häagen-dazs raspberry sorbet for us to eat and eat and eat until there was no more! take that, you parentally controlled young'uns! WHOLE! TUB! IN YOUR FACE!)

several days ago we were shopping for our frutas y verduras at superstore and the air was suddenly poisoned by the shrill cries of a toddler. there was also a strange doppler effect thing going on as the parents continued to shop in all areas of the fruteria/verdureria (did i get that right?). it got old quickly and i wanted them to please, in the name of all that is good and holy, shut. the. child. up. please. at one point i was palpating some questionable oranges and the cart bearing the youthful screamer rolled up beside me. i looked at the toddler and when we made eye contact i stared coldly at him for a little while then made a face and turned away. did i feel terrible? not really*. unless i know you well**, your children at best bore me to death, and at worst annoy the crap out of me, so you know what? whatever. funny thing, though, the next day i very cheerfully helped not one but two elderly ladies. so i guess i am not all mean. then again, the elderly do not annoy me and they rarely scream. so - moi, mean to toddlers, helpful to the elderly. i should get a t-shirt made.

*what do you expect from a card carrying conservative? big business - YES PLEASE! future generations - SCREW YOU!

**for friends with children reading this - have no fear, i know and love your endlessly fascinating offspring; this was not meant for you. really.

p.s. today i saw britney spears' private bits. good god. eeew.

p.p.s. my own damn fault. i googled it.

p.p.p.s. sleepy time: big girl style!

02 December, 2006

the id, the ego, and the superego walk into a bar...

last night i had another one of my action dreams. there was a serial killer in a giant dark mansion, there was a terrorist plot to blow up a restaurant, there were scooter chases and a kidnapping, there were machine guns and snowshoes, and finally, there was an involved taste-testing of bitter orange liqueurs (who knew there were so many(in my head)). i love my dreams, they are way more fun than my boring old life where i almost never get to bonk anybody on the head with a baseball bat. strangely, for a while, a large number of my action dreams centred around arms smuggling in africa. go figure. i know little about weapons, i have never been to africa, and i find the whole arms smuggling thing to be morally questionable because most likely it is being done for profit, and if morality enters the question, well, how can you be sure you are supporting the right warlord? and yet these dreams came, fast and furious, me (again) shooting automatic weapons, driving semis across the desert, hiding under tarps in jeeps, you name it, i've done it.

my mom and my husband rarely remember their dreams, my dad, on the other hand, is clearly the genetic source of my nocturnal double life. i am grateful because if i ever run out of books or movies to entertain me, i will still have my dreams.

last night, before i even fell asleep, i was thinking about another aspect of my dreams: the geography. i really don't know if this is normal or not (and good god, do i really even care, except in a curious statistical way?), but i am extremely well aware of the geography of my dreams. what do i mean? well, there are several repeating motifs in my dreams: the big city, the market, and the waterfront. and although i rarely revisit the same place, i revisit the vicinity. as i walk the paths of a lagoon i think nothing of it, but when i think about the dream the next morning, i know where each path will lead, i know that the lagoon is the same one from previous dreams. i remember the mountain path from a dream i must have had over a decade ago and a big city zoo from a childhood dream. i can close my eyes and picture the twisted pathways of the marketplace whose stalls i visit with astounding regularity, though, as far as i can remember, i have never purchased anything. in my recent city dream, i walked down a long street with a chinese name, and though on the surface it looks to my waking mind like a street in toronto's chinatown, in my dreamworld, it is a street in the Big City, and i know the way there, i know the overpasses, i know the downtown core, i know this city in a way that tells me i have been there more than once, although never in the same place twice.

i don't know if i am making much sense, and i don't know if i am getting across what i really mean. i think that what i do mean is that if i were to ever physically find myself in the places i have constructed in my mind, they would not be haphazard, i would be able to find my way. i would know the streets, i would know the paths, i would know them well. still, i find it a little bit odd that although i sometimes forget things that it would please me very much to remember, i remember in detail, the imagined landscape of my dreams, and much of the dreams themselves. as stated before, crazy brain, you are rather disturbing sometimes.

thanks for listening (was i typing out loud again?) to this self indulgent topic.