28 June, 2007

a goat, a nazi and an oscar meyer wiener walk into a bar...

1. another wedding this weekend. another chance for us to look into each other's eyes, sigh contentedly, and thank heavens that we skipped the endless ceremony followed by feeding countless strangers at the trough and watching great aunt edith get pissed and try to grope the ring bearer again. aaaah, june weddings. so romantic. so...you know, been there, done that. but i'm sure it'll be lovely and we'll get to see some good friends.

2. a week in edmonton during which i shall endeavour to get high off paint fumes as i take on the hallway, with its inconvenient ceiling angles, stairs and multiple nooks (as well as assorted crannies). alas, i cannot live with the colour that is there now, a colour i fondly call: grandma's unwashed gaunch. wanna drop by, recucitate me and feed me wine?

3. canada day is coming. i really hope there will be fireworks. i spent my last two summers in places that shamelessly fed my fireworks addiction. this summer i appear to be going cold turkey. come on edmonton, give mommy some shiny pretties!!!

4. one of the missing (presumed eaten) parcels from our american friends has finally made it over the very very secure border. it contained a lovely valentine, a scary monster demon, and a declaration of love ("i heart spinach" which i really really do. i'm crazy that way.) hugs and kisses to teena and phil! we'll be seeing y'all soon! in the meantime, go buy teena's stuff. and, while you're at it, go buy shana's stuff too! then you can be cool like me. and tell them i sent ya!

5. tony blair is gone. good bye tony! you might be a manipulative religious wingnut, but you added much needed class to the "George And Tony World Take-Over Revue." plus, who didn't enjoy smirking at dubya when he tried to talk side by side with you, you with your curious erudition, your amazing gruntlessness, your magical ability to speak in complete sentences. and you were rather attractive for a politician*.

6. i had a patient today who said he just bought a brand new truck he did not use, simply because "he wanted one." could this juvenile, nay infantile, consumer attitude be what's killing us slowly? i say yes. i wanted a truck, quoth he, i don't use it; i just drive it. hell yeah! to actually use your pick-up truck and ruin alberta's nearly spotless track record? never! here's an enthusiastic "fuck you" to all of you thoughtless gas guzzling pricks.
but wait, perhaps you are simply not informed...did you know that the box behind the cab can actually be used to transport things? consider this a free tip.

*the last politician i considered attractive was the deceased (and fascist - 2 strikes against him!) general franco of spain.

27 June, 2007

pain haikus and the koi of joy

last friday i had my bastard tooth taken out. the tooth that has, over its lifetime, cost me somewhere in the vicinity of 3 grand. the tooth that has, over its lifetime, cost my liver whatever the going rate is these days in liver chunks as it is forced to process not only piles and piles of antibiotics but also the stomach-churningly vicious anti-inflammatory toradol. the tooth, finally, that has, over its lifetime, thrice reduced me to a weeping sacklet of misery, a sad-eyed, pale-faced ghost of moi, wailing, praying, crying, weeping, gnashing of remaining teeth (this is very difficult to do without disturbing the painful tooth, but i have a real sense of the occasion, which required melodramatic outbursts of the highest order and, short of rending my garments and pouring ashes upon my head, gnashing it was. i did the other stuff too, by the way, but try finding ashes around my place! i was reduced to picking cigarette butts from outside the backdoor which did little to restore me to any sort of sense of equilibrium...where was i? am i still inside the brackets? hello??????...ahem. yes.) in a word (aaah, you gots to love my customary brevity, which does make an appearance sooner or later, though typically later...where was i?) yes, the damn tooth. out, damn tooth!

an aside: i am sad to say i am one of those patients that i hate: i grasp my hands so tightly that i effectively prevent any sort of meaningful bloodflow to the fingers, i exhibit all the classic signs of panic, and i whimper very very softly to myself. yes, i am afraid of the dentist. sue me.

the night following the extraction (which, let's be honest, scared the bejesus out of me and taxed my ability to get through the worst that life throws my way by practicing yoga breathing*) i was in pain. and because i was half asleep, and because i was in the midst of a japanese novel (all samurai and paper screens and courtly love and shit) i decided to get all philosophical on the pain's ass and to try to define it, thereby forcing it to disappear, unable to stand up to my scrutiny. does this sound crazy? 'cause you know what? it sorta works.

so i am lying there in bed, thinking to myself, my pain is like a golden nail (about 1.5") with the head of a chrysanthemum. then, as it shifts and changes, i think, my pain is a school of silver minnow. then i fall asleep on the icepack and dream of penguins.

*this ability is not an actual ability that i actually have. it is more of an ability i wish to hell i had. at that particular moment, breathing of any kind was an accomplishment.

20 June, 2007

in which i strike out with faramir, get lucky with bob saget, and kill me some flies

the night before last i dreamt i was at a lord of the rings cast party. this, to anyone who knows me, would be the pinnacle of drool-inducing joy. orlando bloom was rude and distant, which i attributed to his legolas wig - how can you not be rude and distant in a long blond wig? the heart-breaker, though, was david wenham's coolness when i asked faramir for directions to the W.C. sure enough, he gave me directions, but there was not even a hint of sparkle in his eye suggesting that we might get together later to do the horizontal mambo. damn.

after this sexual fiasco i wondered the hollywood lot where they were filming. and yes, i do realise they actually filmed in new zealand. in fact, i can bet that i know a hell of a lot more about this movie than you do, so just keep your comments to yourself. this only proves the point that one's brain is a strange machine and we have no control over our dreams whatsoever (which goes a long way to explaining the very disturbing dream i had a few years back, featuring bob saget and me, having sex in a paris subway bathroom. please, let's not mention this again. ever.)

so is there a point to this story? sort of. i just want to go on record saying that i want my old dreams back. the queen and lord of the rings notwithstanding, i miss my james bond dreams. i miss smuggling arms in africa. i miss shooting a semi-automatic weapon off the back of a speeding, fishtailing semi at the goons in pursuit. i miss escaping from a deranged lunatic serial killer in a creepy old house. 'cause that stuff is FUN!

and yes, i am perfectly aware of the irony that the very movies which i generally tend to dislike* (horror? moi? NEVAH!) make the very best sort of dreams.

*except for the bond franchise, which i love, love, love. i mean, who doesn't want to be a secret agent? all the cool locales, the hot clothes, the sexy cars! the ability to kill without the least bit of guilt - that alone would be worth it! last night i was overwhelmed by a deep sense of guilt because i accidentally sent some mayflies to their death, thinking they were eating my hops. mayflies. you know, the ones who live no longer than a day? aaah, the humanity!!!

19 June, 2007

one goshdarn disclaimer, one proclamation of love and one recipe

ok, i know and respect and even really really like a lot, some people who do say "oh my gosh" on a regular basis but, in the spirit of 'love the sinner, hate the sin', i hold my anti-gosh position. i am sure many people like me and respect me but wish i'd stop saying "fuck" all the time.

oh, and also, i looooove leonard cohen. off topic, but so very true.

and here's a culinary tip:

saute some sliced mushrooms until they are golden, add a dash of soy sauce, a dash of balsamic vinegar and reduce, toss some mixed greens with a nice garlicky vinaigrette, dump the mushrooms on top of that, and top with slices of chevre. yum. honestly, what with the cold and hot, the crunchy and the chewy and the melty, what with the sweet, salty and cheesy. yum.

enter The Schnozz

i was getting ready for the wedding a couple of weeks ago and found myself looking astonishingly hott. yes. double T hott. possibly even sexxy. so, to document this momentous occasion, i whipped out the camera, stood in front of the mirror making various supermodel inspired poses (you know, that open mouthed, slit eyed, pissed off look that passes for sexy these days) and took some pictures. alas and alack: enter The Schnozz. you see, when i am seen in real time, you are too busy trying to figure out what it is i am going on and on about, watching the blur of my ever-flapping gums, to notice The Schnozz. so when you see me live, you think that i have pretty blue eyes, and that i talk. A LOT. but when the camera captures the moment all you see is The Schnozz. and it is large. big. huge. it takes up a far more than reasonable amount of my facial real estate. and it was (oddly enough) a real surprise to me.

you see, over the last 35 years i have seemingly made peace with my physical bits. (except for the round the waist bits that continue to piss me off. though not enough to swear off wine. or food. or wine. i might have already mentioned the wine.) so it was an unpleasant surprise to look at my hottness in the mirror, press a button, look at the screen, and see a definite Schnozzness.
but i got over it. i even wore a halter dress with no bra, which, at 35, could be seen as either extreme chutzpah, or early onset dementia. take your pick.

i was at two weddings recently and noticed a strange thing: the curly-haired bride had her hair straightened; the straight-haired bride had her hair curled. each was made to look unlike herself, with the implication that the way she was was somehow not good enough. you know, the old "lose weight for your wedding day" and "grow your hair for your wedding day" and "even though you might never ever wear white, wear white for your wedding day" and i really could go on forever because i hate the wedding industry THAT much. interesting, no?

all this got me thinking about bodies, and the self-hatred that young (and older) women have to contend with all their lives. i think of how beautiful i was as a young woman, and how i never really saw it because i was always a big boned girl and the mothers of my bird-boned girlfriends made me feel like an overweight gorilla. even my mother pointed out the slight protrusion of my belly as something freakish and wrong. so i went through years of hating my body when the pictures i see of it now prove it gorgeous. all those wasted years. grrrr.

but even now in my thirties, as i try to embrace myself, my flaws, my imperfections, i sometimes trip and fall. and i look at mister monkey who parades his belly proudly, who sticks it out and asks me if i want to touch "his friend" while i skulk around, sucking in the gut, never EVER looking in the mirror without the aforementioned sucking-in. what do you wanna bet that as i enter my 40's, i will kick myself for not appreciating my 30's body. and then in my 70's i will be even more pissed at my lack of respect for the perfectly functioning non-achy bod of my yesteryear. and even though i know all this, it is still a struggle to like myself on a regular basis.

next time around, i wanna be a man. (also, i want to see if it really is impossible to pee INSIDE the bowl)

18 June, 2007

just say fuck!

1. last night i dreamed that the queen of england abdicated in my favour (and really, who can blame her?) and i started on the road to ruling a rather big bunch of people with bad teeth who overcook their veg. all this took place in a public washroom, of the kind typically seen in the creepy old gymnasiums of junior high schools built in the 1960's, none of which is in any way pertinent to the story at hand but it's my dream, damn it! i also was given a piece of parchment which my husband had to sign, agreeing to being a royal consort. i love my brain.

2. saturday night i went to my sister-in-law's birthday party and promptly did my usual routine of drinking my face off and talking unceasingly to anyone who would listen and quite a few who would not. the next day i did my usual routine of feeling like shit and kicking myself for the endless stream of chatter that alcohol invariably unleashes. i talked. i swore. i shared polish crotch nicknames with terrified canadians. to counter the hated and hypocritical "oh my gosh" movement, i coined the slogan "just say fuck" which, though much ruder, is at least refreshingly honest (my opinion, ok?), AND fun to say. sis-in-law promised to produce t-shirts, in an ultra feminine pink, with the slogan. want one? let me know. 20$. and it'll get you laid. no guarantees though. you still need to invest a bit of time in personal hygiene. and some antibiotics will clear up the sores in no time. but it might help.

3. tiles were laid in the basement of our new old house. i could say i did it. i could be a little more truthful and say that i helped. or, in the spirit of "just say fuck," i could be brutally honest and admit that i mostly stood around and occasionally passed little plastic crosses to my uncle. and made sure that the odd circumcised penis-shaped brown splotch on the tile* did not repeat too often, though i am sure that nobody else would have noticed the penisity of the splotch. now, of course, those of you who read this carefully and intently will want to come to my house and Seek The Penis. to you i say, come on down. anyhow, i don't believe, based on your comments, that any of you are careful or attentive readers. but that's ok, because this is the only opportunity i give you of being inattentive. normally at parties i back you up against the wall and talk at you, spitting occasionally in my overwhelming enthusiasm for my own hilariousness, until you pass out or manage to work your way to and out the door. but that's also ok. apparently i am interesting. my husband told me so. of course he might be biased. or mentally odd. he did marry me.

4. a parcel i mailed to a friend in chicago, containing a hand-painted (by moi) mirror has been stopped at the border. either the border bastards collect art, or they fear the subversive message contained therein. a parcel from same friend, on its way to me, is also missing, presumed eaten. the issues of national security are getting in the way of my life. here's a shout out to the american (and increasingly canadian) government: maybe if you stop acting like such mindnumbing pricks, the world will stop wanting to blow you up. just a thought.

*walking on weenies! hee hee!

05 June, 2007

if jesus wore a speedo, i just might believe

last saturday night i went to a wedding. it took place in a lovely catholic church and as the priest droned on interminably i was overwhelmed with the sheer hypocrisy of it all: a celibate man telling a couple to love god above each other, as the only path to true happiness. riiiight. cough*bullshit*cough!

just because you have nobody but a god-concept to hold on to in the cold and lonely nights of your chosen profession (and really, may they be cold and lonely, because the alternative - choirboys and confused tweens - is unpardonable) does not mean it is either feasible or even possible for most regular mortals.

i pondered the realities of human nature as i stood, sat, knelt and stood up again (and took a few wonderous minutes to admire the odd pear shaped ass in thin white yoga pants - oh yeah - of the woman in the pew ahead of ours) and came to the conclusion that if you thought and thought and then took a cheezie and cola break and then thought some more, you could do no better at inventing a religion more unsuited to the aforementioned human nature than christianity.

you want selflessness? you want sharing of worldly possessions? you want sacrifice in the name of greater good? how about misogyny*? coitophobia? doing unto others? how about heaping shitloads of guilt? more guilt? anyone? anyone?

like communism, christianity is a lovely theoretical concept that ends in bloodshed when put into practice.

we are essentially selfish, mean, greedy,**unwilling to follow directions, ungrateful, petty, and contrary.

sure, we also occasionally do good but mostly on a small scale - is there an antonym to "genocide"? "mob violence"? "war"? (and before you burst out with "peace," i mean an active, not a passive event, not merely a lack of outright war, but an organized outpouring of positive actions, large-scale reconstruction and the launching of flowers and teddy bears into neighbouring territories. ha! gotcha! no such thing, right?)

so to hear the priest blather on about concepts as unfamiliar to him as scratching his balls is to a eunuch, was an exercise in depression. i wanted to belt out "JESUS CHRIST!" but felt it would be deemed as no more than an unseemly charismatic outburst from a protestant member of the audience, potentially carried away by the excitement of the mass. unless of course i followed that up with, "FOR FUCKS SAKE, SHUT UP ALREADY!!!" which i almost did.

*oh wait, christianity hardly has the monopoly on misogyny. humanity did that one all on their own, with the notable exception of various matriarchies over the ages which the church did its best to not just destroy but to vilify.

**ever seen a little kid in a store? the sheer power of toddler desire for something, anything: toy, candy, sugary cereal, something colourful, shiny, sweet or merely plastic is a force that has to be seen to be believed; don't tell me we aren't all born wanting.

03 June, 2007

if whores were this circumspect, no john would EVER bring home the clap

ok, i am pissed. i have spent the last half hour trying to find kitchen cabinet styles on both the home depot and the IKEA websites. i have been sending swear packages heavenward, contemplating maiming the laptop and/or mister monkey*, and generally getting my panties in a knot. here's a question: if you had a website that sold, for the sake of argument, flavoured personal lubricant, would you not, theoretically speaking, have a home page that CLEARLY directed your customer to the various flavours (say, liver'n onion, passionfruit, or dill pickle)? or would you lead them on a merry chase that ended with total frustration for the prospective buyer and bankrupcy for you? it seems that the aforementioned companies are aiming for the latter.

if only there was a comments page that would allow me to vent. instead, IKEA has an animated e-dolly named anna who politely tells me she doesn't understand me. anna, you are a two dimensional cartoon who blinks excessively and occasionally flashes a truly frightening smile,** i certainly hope you don't understand me.

here is a sample conversation:

moi: you are a moronic bitch and i hate you
anna: would you like me to take you to the toy section? (apparently the words "moronic" and "bitch" translate to "excellent mommy" in IKEA-land. pity the poor swedish children.)

moi(frustrated into uncharacteristic terseness): idiot
anna: i am sorry you feel that way. may i answer any questions related to IKEA products?

moi: quit blinking at me and hide that frightening grin!!!
anna: i don't think i am overly expressive. (i kid you not, she actually said this) are there any IKEA related questions that i may help you answer?

if you are ever bored or lonely, go talk to anna. i am actually quite curious how much of a conversation one may carry on with her. i might go in there today and ask her how she is doing. who knows, i may yet develop a friendship with a non-existent swedish e-dolly with a frighteningly competent e-orthodontist.

*just because he was there and unable to make it better. no other reason, really.
**disturbingly reminiscent of my cousin's ex-girlfriend