29 August, 2007

more, cause my brain won't stop

if you ever wonder, as you leave your dental office, whether we talk about you behind your back: yes, we do.

if you are nice and funny and kind and say "please" and "thank you" and brush your teeth, we turn to our co-workers and say, you know so and so? what a nice person. i really liked her. he has a wicked sense of humour. her hygiene is immaculate.

if you have a realistic reenactment of the bubonic plague in your oral cavity, we turn to our co-workers and say, walter h. cronkite! that was one filthy son of a ditch! and we mean it.

also, "whenever i get around to it" is not a valid brushing frequency. got that? the last thing you should have in your mouth before you go to sleep is a toothbrush.*




*ok, ok, oral sex is permissible, but wouldn't you want to at least rinse after?

the seventh seal, the twelfth manatee and a ship of fools

you know somefink? i just realised somefink, and the somefink i just realised made me realise somefink else, somefink that i already knowed but had forgotted. here are the somefinks in the order of their occurrence in brain cavity:

1. you, the reader, have no way of knowing if i am telling the truff.

2. i am real cute, but several crayons short of a full deck of bricks (or somefink)

you see, i was trying to figure out how many peaches i ate today (was it 7? was it only 5?) and was in the throes of serious mental exertion when i realised (see 1. above) that whether i wrote the correct number on purpose or an incorrect number by mistake or an incorrect number in a mean and deceitful manner, two things remained true: a. you could never know if i was indeed lying or telling the truff and b. you really don't give a sheep. oh, and c. that i know the first three letters of the alphabet. real well, too!

now it don't take no mental giantess to have figured out this little perk of blogging, so here came realisation 2. (see above). all large nasal appendages aside, i am cute. and it is astonishing that someone with my mindnumbingly spectacular intellect is so floody slow sometimes.

now there are some bloggers out there for whom* it is a question of honour to always tell the truff, to maintain uninterrupted honesty, to "keep it real" as it were. me? not so much. after all, i can claim to be honest and all that sheep, but really, who's to know? and hell, why should i be honest with you when i am frequently dishonest (sometimes brutally so) with myself?




*notice how even in the midst of minxish misspellings and grammatical goofiness, i still retain some standards? i could never say "for who" just as i could never say "for you and i" and you know why? because, all joking aside, some things are holy, and the object/subject dichotomy is one such thing.

28 August, 2007

in which i fall at your feet and breathlessly beg for forgiveness

has it come to this? that i should use this mighty forum to whine about the weather? fie! for shame! and you! yes, you! you let me! you too are complicit in this. you are enabling me and that is not good.

you, yes you, need to rise up, raise your voice as one, and demand entertainment, not feeble mewling about meteorology.

also, you, yes you, need to come up with some creative swears. then i shall have some meat for my porridge (ha! mixed metaphor of the truly disgusting kind).

i leave you to ponder these words while i consume more peaches and digest the very last of the marble cake. mmmmmmm.....cake.......

27 August, 2007

blood on the outside, cake on the inside: a good day

worst. august. ever.

has anyone else ever seen an august with not a single day above 20C? at this point i am wishing for a little global warming. it's been feeling like october and i am sick of it. i certainly hope we at least get a little indian summer (native american summer? aboriginal summer? what the hell's the p.c. term these days?). mister monkey snorts and says this is typical alberta but i beg to differ. every bloody august in my memory has been chock full of damn good weather. including the one a decade ago when it snowed during the fringe: because it snowed after 3 weeks of a solid heatwave.

ok. b.c. is starting to look better and better. except that i think kelowna got a dump of snow in june and that just ain't right.

the environmental wisemen (and women) claim that the prairies will be least affected by the climate change. aha. is that why we have been getting vancouver weather for the past 4 weeks, minus the accompanying vancouver benefits, of the cultural-topographical-socio-political variety?

weh. i am tired of all this blather. i shall go, shower off the blood and gore, eat large quantities of juicy in-season peaches, digest the vast amounts of marble cake i hoovered at work today, and wait for the man to return from his day in the greasy trenches.

toodles, young'uns.

26 August, 2007

unwashed and grumpy, on life's own crusty couch

it's amazing how antisocial i am getting. it's sunday and, much like the title, i sit and read and think i should perhaps call up my mom and chat for a bit and i am unable to do it. i really don't feel like going into the details of our condo sale, or my heart palpitations, or my need to exercise or any number of things i know we will talk about. i don't want to talk. and not just to her. to anybody. this seems to be a more and more common state for me.

i can see already, the kind of grumpy old lady i will one day become: wild-eyed, bitter-mouthed, hatchet-faced, hateful and spiteful, despising everyone around her, scattering frightened children as she careens through their noisy crowd on her scooter because she is bothered by the noise and wants it to stop NOW.

shit. i'm already that.

minus the scooter.

parties have always frightened me. i love the idea until the reality looms on the horizon and i am faced with the realization that crowds will soon descend upon my quiet kingdom and demand to be fed dainties. and when they do, the fear goes away and i am able to enjoy myself, but as i get older, the fear period extends beyond what is reasonable. perhaps if my life was a little less chaotic i would look at social gatherings as pleasant activities, not more items to be crammed into my overflowing agenda.

however, i do see a solution of sorts. i think any entertainment we shall do from now on will be in small wine-soaked groups, tapas and booze, some background music, and no need to vacuum up the table scraps the following day (god, i will love not having a carpet anymore, not having to scrub red wine from it with the pink solution*, not having to wonder how much longer i can reasonably put off vacuuming, telling myself that i am imagining the crunching noise of crumbs and various decomposing exoskeletons as i walk).

perhaps, like a good self-aware woman, i should just say "no" to big parties, just like i said "no" to skiing several years ago when i suddenly realised that if i really wanted to sip mulled wine in a lodge, i could skip the pricey lift tickets and the guilt trips and sip the mulled wine and damn the naysayers, the cheerleaders, the ski bunnies who couldn't possibly fathom that someone who'd been skiing since the early single digits simply got tired of that particular exercise, what with the age-sharpened awareness of my own mortality and all.

so yes, no more large parties. maybe some old fashioned open houses, instead? i shall put the kettle on, set out saltines, a crystal bowl of pimento-stuffed olives, some nuts and sherry and y'all can come and go as you please while i sit and rock on my (non-existent) rocking chair.

or i can start to pop ativan, mix it up with wine and see what happens.


*i bought this stuff many years ago at a home show and, goddamn, it is AMAZING! it will get old forgotten wine stains from a light coloured carpet. it will remove anything from anything else. hell, i'm sure if they used it in the middle east, all strife would end. and it's biodegradable, environmentally safe and will not fry your lungs with ammonia. and hey, it's pink!

25 August, 2007

pharmacon for junkies, panopticon for opticians, and everyone gets to go home happy

today mister monkey and i touched the stanley cup.

i'm not kidding: it was the real thing, and purely accidental.

i picked him up at the fort mcmurray airport and it so happened that a local boy who made it big in the NHL dropped by for a visit, carrying the big silver mug in question.

now i know that you know that my relationship with hockey is, at best, uneven. long periods of not giving a shit, punctuated by brief and passionate outbursts of caring. at this point, i don't give a shit. but still, a legendary bit of hardware* was under my fingertips today and i am a little bit excited. (if tiger woods stood in my line-up at the bank i would be thrilled too, even though i don't give two hoots about golf).

you'll wanna know who this hockey dude was, no? sorry. i have no idea. he seemed friendly, he was surprisingly short and his girlfriend had the prerequisite vapid and pretty look of hockey girlfriends the world over. that's all i can tell you. oh, and mr. m tells me he plays for the ducks, which would explain the stanley, i suppose.

are you excited for me? even a little bit? after all, i have just touched a little piece of canadian history. purely by accident.


*you know what? it was actually kind of pretty. who knew?

24 August, 2007

in which the camel breathes a small sigh of relief before trudging on

we sold our condo. 3 keys will now leave my gigantic caretaker-sized bunch. granted, that still leaves me with 8 keys and various attached objects but the load will lighten. plus we will be down to one house. no more multi-property ownership and its attendant cares. until we purchase something in lotusland, that is.

lately i have been overwhelmed with the desire to whittle away all the non-essentials from my life. to live in a small cabin and sew my own clothes (you laugh, do ya? well, okay, my mind chuckles too: i sew only in continuous straight lines, just like my knitting, so if i were to make my own clothes i would be wearing a lot of fabric tubing. and very long scarves. which might be ok.) to pare down my shoe collection to a sturdy 2 pairs (still scoffing? well, you might be a little bit more realistic than i am at this point, but then again this is my fantasy and thus by definition can be as unrealistic as i want. in fact, BAM! i just put a shirtless nathan fillion in my small cabin, and damn if he isn't a wizard with the sewing machine, whipping me up a nice bias-cut off the shoulder number from the organic free-range hemp that we wove last night before a soy wax candle-lit dinner of organic non-sulphured chocolate lava cake and organic dolphin-friendly red wine).

but all joking aside (not that i'd EVER joke about something as serious as my nathan fillion obsession), i want a simple house, or perhaps, simply fewer houses/homes/habitations. i want one place, with pots of basil and tomatoes on the deck, some green growing things in the vicinity and the time to learn to make gnocchi from scratch and to bake bread, and do yoga, and breathe without feeling like my heart is about to jump out of my chest. a place where mister monkey and i can cook together. a place where the familia is close by and friends can drop by to be fed.

how we complicate our lives. one wrong turn and you find yourself in the convoluted over- and under-passes of a texas cloverleaf interchange, when all you wanted was a simple country road.

then again, perhaps i would have no idea what i wanted had i not moved around so much and then ended up living here. i shouldn't discount that particular nugget of wisdom. after all, we might still be living in edmonton, in our previous (shitty) house, mr. m working at his hated job, dreaming of bigger and better things. this way, we have been given a kick in the pants in the general direction of what we want. and what we want is something simpler, less chaotic.



by the way, i am still awaiting some creative swearing. get on it!

23 August, 2007

i'll have a side of psychosis, please

lately i have found myself itemising my thoughts using the letters of the alphabet. i'll say something and illustrate my point as A. blah blah blah, B. yadda yadda yadda, and finally C. wah wah wah. it's started to annoy me as soon as i noticed i was doing it. after all, what am i proving here? beyond my expert knowledge of the first three letters of the alphabet, that is?

also, i've been biting my nails again, after years and years of not. it chips my dainty teeth that have become nearly see-through with all the grinding i've been putting them through. oh yeah, and then there's the heart palpitations that come just as i lie down to sleep. and i see a hip replacement somewhere in the not too distant future.

shit, perhaps i'll just invest in one of those old people scooters right now, and get it over with.

will you still be my friend? i'll give you a ride on my scooter!

minimizes pores, thickens hair, enhances erections

okay, let me make something clear here. i am not, nor have i ever been, in favour of the type of brainless swearing frequently heard in second class drinking establishments (the kind that have a "no knives" sign on the door) or junior high schools. i don't hold with peppering your even most inane pronouncement with the f-bomb. it is silly. it does nothing to elucidate your ideas. it does nothing to sharpen your wit in the eyes of others. it is indeed (in tony's words) "merely a compensation for a limited vocabulary."

however, i do think that peppering your speech with the gosh-bomb is no better.

to be frank, i only swear in english. i mean, i do swear in polish but i do it seldom and usually with just cause (you know, that anvil-on-the-toe looney tunes moment). i hate it when mr. m swears in polish. perhaps it's because i was raised in a home where "ass" was pretty much the worst word i heard growing up.

but. BUT: in polish, the words that take the place of the "bad" swears (like "darn" instead of "damn") are generally creative. let me take you on a short linguistic journey through pottymouthia:

the big polish baddie is "kurwa" (roll the R and the W is pronounced like a V - works like a charm when an anvil drops on your toe. truly, nothing beats it.)

now the words that polite polish people use to substitute for the big K are sometimes, like "darn," meaningless, and sometimes they are cute. for instance, one of the substitute words is the polish word for chicken. so if you really want to swear but grandma is present, you yell out "pale chicken!" or "baked chicken!" both far more engaging than "gosh." then, to switch it up a bit, we have "dog's blood" and "dog's bone." the italians have their "porca madonna." anglophones have "gosh."

sigh.

so if you don't want to swear, don't. but if the need takes you and you don't want to offend anyone, how about making up something witty (more witty than "fudge" please)?

any ideas? i am open to suggestions.

and furthermore, this whole thing started not with "fuck" but with "gosh." since when are we so bloody puritanical that we can no longer utter "god"? wasn't i persuasive enough when i told you god does not exist? and since he does not exist, he can hardly mind you tossing about his moniker. plus, let me remind you, god is a generic term, like car, or refrigerator, and who the hell will know which particular god you are referring to, huh? thus you can offend not only christians but muslims, jews, zoroastrians, zeus-worshippers, and The Church Of The Small Inexplicable Growth On My Left Armpit, all in one fell swoop. whereas if you say "gosh" you will be offending only one person: namely me.

20 August, 2007

the bluebird of happiness meets the llama of anxiety

okay, enough with the "gosh" already! i am taking the "just say fuck!" movement to the streets, people. i have had enough.

if you stub your toe and mutter "fudge" while in your mind you holler "fuckety cocksucking whore fuck fuck" is that not a little bit hypocritical? unless your kids or great aunt martha are present, of course.

i don't know, i'm a little torn. i know i swear too much but, like the slight barnyard whiff they talk about in some great red wines, i think it makes me full bodied and interesting (or, like other barnyard whiffs, just plain old full of shit). i don't think we should all swear all the time, and there is definitely a time and a place, but i think that we are being overrun by the all american "oh my gosh" about which, i know, i know, i have already ranted at length. still, when i have a patient who says "hell" i feel like rejoicing. and when my boss occasionally lets slip a "bullshit" i feel like kissing him on his stubbly head, because aren't we all adults here?

i firmly believe that this whole gosh thing is an insidious american import. people watch too much tv, and all those game show contestants gushing goshes on prime time must take a mental toll.

canada, while you may be polite, you are not a polyester*-clad middle-aged midwestern church lady. you are famous for your pot and left-wing politics. for god's sake, your mascot is a beaver! face up to it.

canada, goshdarn it all to heck, just. say. fuck. it'll make you feel better.


*apparently jesus loves polyester. and big bangs. it's true. check out most religious people. big teased bangs. and polyester. jesus may be all about love, but his fashion sense sucks. sorry, jesus.

14 August, 2007

sheep - new and improved!

1. hey! i chopped all my hair off. people tell me it makes me look a decade younger, so either i look like a hot twenty-something-year-old or i looked like shit before. and if that's the case, thanks a lot for telling me. perhaps you felt bad, but it wouldn't have hurt either one of us if you had gently suggested i perhaps hold off on that third glass of wine and maybe rethink my sleeping schedule, no? is that the reason you haven't been returning my calls, by the way? i guess who wants to be seen hanging out with the polish crone?

2. folk fest was amazing. it was a return to the line-up full of unknowns who blew the mind. also, i am reaffirming my desire for continued and blissful childlessness: although there were some nice warm moments, sharing my house with six (count'em: SIX!) teenagers was overwhelming. next time, i'll take them in pairs, noah-like. one pair per year. or thereabouts.

3. i learned something important in the last little while: if you want to be a great musician, you need to be named willie. in fact, if you are named willy, you will have great chances of becoming legendary in your chosen genre. wee willie, blind willy, willie nelson, little willy, big willie and countless other willies, all famous to those in the know. parents, if you have a child with high musical ambitions, i urge you to rethink naming him "jayvon" or "jayden" or whatever passes for male names these days. trust me. go with willie. and buy the kid a banjo.

4. and speaking of names, did you know that a disproportionate percentage of north american murderers were named dwayne? really. i think i read it in the chicago reader. it's true. they had stats and everything. of course i am too lazy to actually look them up or anything but it is so outrageous it must be true. so we were in this neighbourhood gay bar in chicago and i was chatting with this guy and we were trying to figure out what the "W" in george w. bush stood for and we were sure it must be wayne, like an undercover dwayne. we never did figure it out.* still, parents, if you do not harbour any musical ambitions, but would like your child to not murder people, perhaps you ought to stay away from "dwayne." then again, in my mind, the name "dwayne" conjures up trailer parks, pregnant fifteen year olds named mary-jo-ellen and engines on the lawn. my apologies to any surgeons or lawyers named dwayne, who, i am sure, must be out there somewhere to satisfy the goddess of statistics**.

*it's actually "walker" which is a retarded name. hell, it's not even a name, it's a description of a skill one masters in toddlerhood, which is probably why they picked it. "thinker" would not have fit very well, would it? then again, what do you expect from parents who named one kid "jeb"?

**seshat, an egyptian goddess, is associated with mathematics, so i guess that's just a hop skip and a jump to stats. now don't say i never look anything up for you, you ungrateful curs!

02 August, 2007

life's too short to...

1. wear white socks. (i actually don't think i own a single pair)

2. watch soap operas

3. read poorly written anything (i'm looking at you danielle steele. and aussie natural's [eek] shampoo)

4. eat twinkies

5. work overtime (i'm looking at you, mr. monkey)

6. listen to easy rock

7. vacuum regularly

8. "do" my hair

9. waste time sitting on the computer, writing inane crap...oh wait...well, i would be better off going for walkies, no?



i am pretty excited about getting my new phone which should be arriving today. i will then join the ranks of the cool kids who are all blase, whipping out their sleek phones and, thumbs a-twirlin', messaging their friends like there's no tomorrow.* one day, once i figure out how to work the damn thing, perhaps you too will receive a message from moi reading "LOL u're so funny. let's go out grrlfrnd!" or something like that, all sprinkled with excessive apostrophes and ridiculous abbreviations, all in the name of what? saving time? so look out, here i come! one day soon i might also get an i-pod (or at least white earbuds, their dangling end duct-taped to the empty cigaretter box in my pocket), in a desperate attempt to keep up with the times, yo!

*as in "life's too short," get it? it all comes together, like the wheel of fortune, the circle of life, the puzzle that is our existence.

01 August, 2007

tiny bubbles...oops, excuse me

1. asia, back together, on world tour. yeaaah!

2. i haven't been able to eat much other than fruit lately. i am hungry, i cook something, and i get all blearggh'ed out. which is ok, but am i getting all my body needs from blueberries, yoghurt and protein powder?

3. even though i am generally considered a good cook, i go through phases where everything i make seems barely edible. this is one of those phases. bring on the watermelon!

4. what is it and where do i get one?*

5. i am looking forward to my week in edmonton, where one can go out to an actual restaurant and get an actual meal WITHOUT meat! i know! shocking! what will they think of next?

6. speaking of which, i recently read (in seventeen, no less!) that what i am is a pescatarian. hello, my name is aga and i'm a pescatarian. sure rolls off the tongue easier than lacto-ovo-pesco-vegetarian.

7. oh, and by the way: why is polygamy wrong again? i mean as long as it's consentual, doesn't that simply mean more people who will help with the laundry? if mister monkey found some intelligent hot chick who really liked vacuuming, that'd totally rock! ok, she wouldn't have to be that intelligent. but she would have to vacuum, 'cause i am First Wife, yo!

*just checking if you're awake. well? are ya?