27 September, 2007

buff up your dirigible, irma, we're goin' for a ride!

home now. new home. smellier. murky. uncertain. oddness of fridge in dining room.

but hey, some good points: fridge in dining room, extra bedroom for the tony who no longer comes to visit (it's all your fault, man!), hardwood floors, stolen...i mean free...internet, and other wondrous items that i am unable to enumerate at present on account of being tired, crankyish and experiencing a severe bout of left side pain. i might be having a stroke. or some sort of old age disease. either way i think i'll be dying soon. hell, we'll all be dying soon. you know why? the maya say so.

the mayan calendar ends on december 2012, so you and me, baby, have 5 years to finish up any unfinished business between us. five years in which to find a way to dip nathan fillion in chocolate, five years to get that buff bod i've always wanted...or, conversely, five years to drink a lot of good wine and lick chocolate off nathan fillion's bits. all in all, it's gonna be a busy fiver.

i'm thinking of having a end-of-the-world party. you can come but bring something yummy, i'm sick of freeloaders and no way am i spending my last days slaving over a hot stove.

'night.

26 September, 2007

one bloody mary for the german dude from the vatican

you know those heart palpitations that i've been suffering lately? the ones so nicely complemented by the recurring right eye twitch? brought into a sparkling mental health trifecta by my insomnia? you know what really helps with the aforementioned palpitations? or, as the case may be, makes them a hell of a lot worse? huh? well, do ya?

so: i'm hooked on dexter, showtime's series about a lovable yet conflicted serial killer (six feet under's annoyingly neurotic closeted gay undertaker, michael c. hall). we downloaded the show and got hooked. hooked. hooooooooked!!! and now it's getting dark and scary and making adrenalin pump through my blood stream and my heart pound and i don't like it but. i. cannot. stop.

somebody toss my way an idea for a well written HAPPY show that i can get hooked on and my tormented psyche will write you a lovely thank you note, perhaps even toss in a box of purdy's sweet georgia browns.

the several year long absence of a television set in my life is akin to a distinct lack of a well stocked bar in the life of an alcoholic. there is a reason. the reason can be explained by my tendency to hole up in hotel rooms and watch hours and hours of law and order when given half the chance, by my tendency towards the walleyed glances i toss in the direction of the screen that is forever broadcasting the magic of home decorating in my room at work (while i work on your teeth...what? they're not half as interesting as small space big style).

if you gave me a tv, and it had the discovery channel available, i would spend the next 47.3 hours watching gazelles and meerkats and three toed sloths frolic on the screen, and no matter what you'd say about the high quality of zoological information i was being fed, it would still be a waste of my life. and still i could not stop it.

you see, i know my personality tends towards the easily addictive (i read it once in a beautifully silk-screened zodiac greeting card from ten thousand villages) except in my case it's not drugs but television and mister monkey that are my smack, and i draw the line at one carefully selected good addiction.



jesus, i dont even know what "smack" actually is. hee! i'm so uncool it's funny.

like pastry chefs on heroin

i have developed a twitch in my right eye. if we hang out and i'm winking at you, chances are i'm not winking at you. i'm twitching. why are you making me twitch?

i just met fort mac's only unstressed individual. also, he is deadly afraid of the dentist. but he's not stressed. he asked me why he might be grinding his teeth and i told him that the general reason tends to me stress (hey! look at me!) and he was all shocked and said, almost offended-like, "but i'm NOT stressed!" shit. and he still grinds. while the uselessness of his grinding is almost wasteful (at least i do it to DEstress), i'd much rather be in his shoes - grinding just for the pure unadulterated pleasure of it.

i also had a guy in my chair who had as many teeth as he had fingers, and there wasn't a baker's dozen to be had among the two. he's a sheet metal worker, so i sort of get the fingerlessness (correction, i guess he's a bad sheet metal worker*) but why the alarming toothlessness? does one use teeth in the general processes of sheet metal work? i want to know. i want to be the sort of well rounded individual who knows all about the uses of the human dentition in sheet metal work.


*yeah. like i have a right to scoff, all missing a hefty chunk of my left thumb and all.

25 September, 2007

monkey love

mister monkey walks in the door, his eyes, always on the lookout for missing body pieces on his accident-prone wife, immediately note the two bandage/paper-towel wrapped tom robbins thumb, attractively finished off with cling wrap. his words as he kisses me: "you silly fuck."



i love my husband.

onions, eggs and blood

surely the makers of band-aids should realise that chances are, when you are reaching for one of their products, you are doing it single-handedly, one appendage wrapped in a paper towel, cloth, kleenex or whatever happens to be handy, dripping daintily on the vanity. the extraction of a band aid from its protective packaging is a thorny propostition at the best of times, nevermind at the hour of need.


and now a word from our sponsor: the 6" utility knife by cuisinart - the sharpest knife in any drawer!


etiquette question: if i eat eggs tainted by my own blood, does that make me unladylike?

sprrrrrrrroing! dingle dingle! Pa-Pa-Pa-POW!

headline:

BUSH SPEAKS OUT AGAINST HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSES IN BURMA
the world responds with an uncomfortable silence broken only by the irrepressible guffaw from the back row. tell us more about these "egregious abuses," oh leader of the free world. cough* guantanamo* cough!
kudos on your correct use (and pronounciation) of the word "egregious," though. i take it back, you're not a total moron... just a moron.

stuff unrelated to anything much:

i'm married to a lover of rubber bands, especially the fat coloured ones from broccoli and asparagus. there are rubber bands everywhere and when i cook, i make it a point to surreptitiously cut the elastic off the veg and hide the evidence lest i make my man cry.

i'm married to a toddler, apparently. we live in a typical non-concrete building so the sound carries and we once had a downstairs neighbour come up and ask us to keep our kids quiet, please. aaaah...ok. we'll keep our "kids" quiet. sure. he actually thought we were running a daycare, and all along it was just mister monkey running around with glee after a purple rubber band.

speaking of toddlers:

one of our neighbours releases her spawn once in a while to run up and down the very long hallway, screaming their dumb-ass little heads off for what feels like hours but is probably only many many many minutes. i call that lazy parenting. lady, i know you need your peace and quiet and your kids are annoying and loud, that's why i don't have any, see? having made the cardinal mistake of birthing not just one but two of them, have the decency to keep the joy that motherhood has undoubtedly smothered your existence with to yourself. i'm fine the way i am: bitter, tipsy and quiet.*

*yeah, well not so much with the quiet. but i talk as opposed to all out screaming and that's more pleasant to listen to than toddler shrieks.**

**debatable, that last point, i know.

24 September, 2007

bleaching the mustache of bitterness

today i fell in love with a kid. she's 12 years old, loves harry potter and lord of the rings (both the films and the books, in both cases), she is cute as a button, smiley, smart, sweet and she gave me a hug at the end of her appointment. i swear, i wanted to cry. this is the kid i'd want as a child of my own. this is the girl i'd hang out with if i was twelve.

after a morning of falling seriously behind and getting bitchier and bitchier by the minute (yeah, i know, so very unusual pour moi), this little girl made my afternoon. funny how sometimes a little sunshine marches into your sullen universe, in the form of a person, a song, a sight...if i believed in angels (and not in that frothy dull religious sense, but as a spark of something beautiful to brighten the day) i'd say i had one in my chair today.

totally not my typical post, right?

fuckety fuck fuck fuck!

that's better.

23 September, 2007

we're being lied to: there's no such thing as noodles

i've found myself crying very easily lately. i read a book and invariably some little bit of dialogue, a description or sometimes even the language alone will make my eyeballs leak. i suspect that even opening up the yellow pages these days would result in some emotional trip up (so many people named jones! how can you keep up with them all? sob!)



today it's the 100 mile diet, an inspirational book that manages to also depress the crap out of me and makes me want to move NOW. so i've been reading, leaking and perusing mls.ca, looking for a home in bc. i want to pick my own berries and kale and honey, i want to taste things, the way they actually ought to taste. all this has got me thinking about food.



i was eating organic bc yogurt at work one day when a co-worker looked over and asked me in that particular nasal tone of voice if my yogurt was bad. ahem...depends on your definition, right? i mean, it's yogurt. what she meant was that it was not in a neat gelatinous blob, largely because it was made up entirely of milk and bacterial culture, and not gelatin or corn starch, the way i like my yogurt. the co-worker then explained that she generally just hates yogurt (probably because of all the gelatin and corn starch that is usually packed into it - blerch!) and we laughed it off.



still, i am generally treated with more curiosity than disrespect, but where mr. m works, apparently it is considered fine form to make disparaging remarks about other people's food. one particularly brilliant guy considers rice "useless," the prevailing opinion of millions of asians notwithstanding. he's a meat and potatoes guy, to the exclusion of anything else of a vegetative or fruitational nature. which, in my mind, would go a long way toward explaining his stoopidity (rapid degenerative scurvy of the brain, perhaps?).



i hear about immigrant mothers packing PBJ sandwiches for their kids' lunches to save them the embarassment of eating weird ethnic food and i cannot help feel anything but a deep sense of loss. there is little one can eat from which wonderbread with crusts removed would not be a step down. including locusts.



in fact i often wondered about the whole crust removal thing - the crust of wonderbread is still much softer than the actual body of a good polish rye, so what in the hell is the imagined hardship that you are removing? is chewing considered a hardship? cause if it is, you oughtta see a dental professional. in our household the privilege of gnawing on the butt end of a fresh loaf of rye bread went to the one who was sent out to purchase it, it was a form of payment for services rendered and i remember coming home from the bakery, my baby incisors impaled in the still-warm crust, trying to walk and tear at the same time. yum.



and then there's the actual taste of foodstuffs - if you live in edmonton, i urge you to go to the italian centre and take a deep breath. it's pepper season now and the whole place smells like peppers. aha! you did not realise peppers had a smell, did you? how about an actual vine ripened tomato, still warm from the sun? a far cry from the watery reddish globe that is sold under that same name at the supermarket. and the biggest shock of all for me - standing in my aunt's kitchen in poland, watching her mash potatoes for our dinner and being astounded by the fact that plain boiled potatoes smelled. how? like potatoes. an incredibly earthy, buttery, golden smell, one i had forgotten existed. this summer my cousin-in-law, the spectacular k, grew lettuce. same thing - as she ripped the leaves into a bowl for salad, i was overwhelmed by the scent, fresh, green and astonishing to an urban dweller far removed from the food source.



i don't know if i want to take this as far as the authors of the book have done, but it would not hurt to eat more locally.

say my name, bitch!

you might have noted that i just changed my name.

the reason? when i set up this blog it was a sperm of the moment decision that forced me to think up a name on the spot and really, my two cents (canadian or otherwise) has got to be the lamest-ass blog name out there. not to mention that there are about a gazillion other people who have the same moniker. and if you know me, you know i don't want to be like everyone else: i want to be better - skinnier, prettier, smarter, richer, louder, more mysterious, smoother, fruitier, fresher-tasting, more manageable, new and improved, featuring a new easy-to-pour spout, lightly fragranced with the natural essence of elderberries...you get the idea.

why kippered snacks, you ask? well, hell, why not? it has a nice ring to it, plus, who doesn't like kippered snacks?

but it's still me: food loving professional gum gardener with a slight ex drinking problem, anger issues, splitting my life between oil-slick, earth-raping northern alberta wastelands and my beloved city of edmonton; dreaming of a future in vancouver; hating poor grammar, poor oral hygiene, mental and moral laziness, gas-guzzling automobiles and brainless consumption; loving curry, my peeps, red wine, mister monkey and green and growing things, not to mention puppy dogs and fluffy bunnies and shit.

hi.

22 September, 2007

who dese peoples?

dese people (in pictures that follow, duh!) are the most wonderfullest people who will open their home in new orleans to us in november. we will drink a lot, play asshole, and i shall swear at phil and he shall swear at me, and it will be deemed a good and wholesome waste of time.

why here? why now? well, i was looking back through my photo albums which are plentiful and varied, trying to ascertain (great word, that!) when i last looked like a woman and not this androgynous hypernasal person you see today. a little identity crisis if you will.

when i chopped my hair off i started getting all these superlatives tossed my way, making me worry that i looked like shit before and had not noticed (see previous post, you can look it up yourself, or check your notes*) and while i remember enjoying my short hair before, this time, every time i look in the mirror i see a large nose and a so-so girl with boyish hair and not much sex appeal. and yes, yes, i know, you're gonna say what about the tool rental guy at home depot? to which i'll answer: give. me. a. break. he was like waaaaay too short, ok? and the point here is not to have an army of drooling males following in my footsteps à la penélope cruz in "woman on top"** but to like what i see in the mirror, and lately? not so much.

short story long - looking through pictures, i found the memorable card night at phil and teena's where i kept messing up phil and we kept affectionately calling each other really really really bad names which i will not write here in case my mom somehow circumnavigated all the booby traps i have placed in the way and found this blog (she gave me shit today for [rightly] calling their ford focus a piece of shit - i mean, who buys a ford? for god's sake! i have to lie to people when they ask me*** what my parents drive. i say a lada, or a souped up skoda, or a shopping cart with an outboard motor attached, anything.) and so it goes.

votes:
do you like my hair really short? medium length? long flowing locks? don't give a shit, think i am hot in any way, shape or form? wish i'd drop dead already but for some reason can't stop reading? tell me.


*snurf! guffaw! riiiiiight...

**i really really liked this movie. it's unfortunate that many people don't get magical realism so it flopped. still - voluptuous penny, cute men, gorgeous music, beautiful locations, food - my idea of cinematic heaven. you can take your [insert name of famous current star here****] vehicles and drive them off a cliff.

***yeah. nobody ever asks, actually.

****i am so very out of it. you have no idea.

nola host wid da most

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nola hostess with the mostest

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21 September, 2007

hopelessly devoted to glue or (lame) attempts at (not particularly) late night humour while (slightly) drunk and (largely) tired

today was a day of general fridayish brainlessness. a day of multiple inabilities to complete sentences. a day of calling ron don (he retaliated by asking if i was from holland). a day of telling a co-worker that what worked for my migraines was excedrin with cocaine. a day of picking wine randomly (yet successfully*). a day of wandering aimlessly through superstore completely at a loss of why i was there (to pick up wine). a day that has ended with a second glass of chilean merlot, a handful of hazelnuts and stars on the stereo. a calm night. a quiet night.

good night.


*i find it both heart-warming and disturbing that my alcohol-finding abilities are somehow separate from my other brain functions, and when these are suspended, the automatic pilot kicks in and a nice chilean merlot somehow finds its way into my basket on a day when i have trouble remembering my name.

why spam rocks:

"your longer penis will probe deeper searching those special nerve endings"

hell, i didn't even realise i HAD a penis, and now i have a longer one, one ever curious, one stalwart in pursuit of scientific knowledge about not just any nerve endings, but special ones! my longer penis rocks!

don't you wish that you
had a longer penis too?

all this after a mister monkey company beer and pizza night where i blurted out "hi, i have a large cock!" during one of those little lulls in the general conversation. (i was giving pick-up line ideas to one of the guys, ok?)

19 September, 2007

it takes two to mango, or ladies don't

  • drink
  • swear
  • fart (and giggle)
  • eat large satisfying meals
  • take large satisfying poops
  • hang with the boys
  • check out hot chicks

so i am coming to a rather obvious conclusion: either the definition is fucked up or i'm no lady.

18 September, 2007

bad monkey! bad monkey! don't eat the poop!

which is exactly what mr. m yelled at me as we walked to whyte ave from our new old house. and no, i was NOT eating poop at the time.

and then there was the thing about the guy at that place:

which, you might have noticed, was not really a segue, as a segue presupposes two actual concepts that will be...you know, segued together, and i have nothing to present to you here.

nothing.

i am baking potatoes, onions and carrots from my cousin-in-law's garden, i am drinking wine and listening to something lovely and classical in cello, thinking softly* to myself how nice it would be to marry the archduke of tuscany and have mozart write the wedding ditty. alas and alack, all i get is anti-fecal-consumption public health and safety for simians bulletins from my beloved.

still...he can rewire a socket, he can do plumbing, he can put in a lock and he can frame, drywall and cook. that's almost better than archdukishness. even of tuscany.

*loud thinking is soooo 80's. like big hair.

12 September, 2007

maggots, maggots for everyone!

what i need is a little recording device because as i do my weekly drive to and from civilisation, my mind teems with brilliant ideas, edgy aphorisms, philosophical insights, sharp witticisms and pointed political critique. alas, when faced with the mindnumbing emptiness of my "new post" pad, i am left with semi-literate, semi-coherent, not particularly interesting blather.

oh, that you could hear my brain hold forth on a broad range of topics, you too would be a convert to my theory that i am very very intelligent and the only reason i never made anything at all of my life* is that my splendid intelligence is dwarfed only by my overwhelming laziness.




*sorry, but i can hardly call what i do for a living a career. slurping up saliva day in and day out is not rocket science, and while the actual clean-up requires some fine motor skills, i have met many dental cleaning ladies who read danielle steele with frightening regularity and that's all i need to say for you to be able to gauge their sad sad intellectual state.**

**yes, i am a snob. didn't i already tell you that? jesus!

assume the position

1.we're disgusting.

as we were driving back to fort mac from our moving weekend in edmonton, we got a little peckish and mr. m extracted from the back a styro take-out container from dim-sum, containing 3 rice-paper shrimp dumplings and 2 little shrimpcakes. as i took the container from him, a shrimpcake jumped out, flew through the air and landed at my feet. following the trusted 3 second rule, i quickly located the escapee, brushed him off and promptly ate him. what can i say? i likes the shrimpcakes. afterwards, i felt a little off in my tummy, what with all the dirt, paint residue, oil sands drippings and general doggie excretement. but then again that's no different than what you get in your safeway package of ground beef.

at the trip's end, as i was getting out of the vehicle, lo and behold, there's one more escapee at my feet: another shrimp dumpling! mr. m, following the trusted 3 hour rule, grabbed it, brushed it off and ate it. now that's gross.

2. as i drove to edmonton for my emergency painting weekend, i was suffused with a deep sense of well-being. the clouds were stunning, the fields gorgeous, and the music was just right. i drove, singing along, smiling to myself when i realised that if i were to die right that second, nobody would have a clue how happy i died. nobody. which brought me to the realisation that that is the reason human beings invented god - so that someone is always there to understand. except the plan backfired, as far as i can figure, what with god doing a hell of a lot less understanding, and a hell of a lot more judging, smiting and generally punishing for the very human nature he (allegedly) endowed us with.

so, back to no god all over again.

3. driving BACK (yup, that's a lot of driving - we own a little car, so to do our part for global warming we have to do a lot of driving, oh that we had a hummer!) i listened to cbc's tapestry and was wowed by a program on rumi. rumi's poems, if you do not know, are rich, gorgeous and sensual, but also very spiritual. what the two interviewees, both world renowned rumi experts, said about the religious aspect of rumi, was what i wanted to hear: "no religion and all religions," and, my personal favourite,"if you have loved, you are part of the spiritual whole."

of course, this is still picking up bits and pieces to please one's soul, no proof at all, but for those fleeting seconds when we glimpse perfection in the world (as on my drive down), it makes sense to call it something great, unfettered by the stupid boundaries of buildings, codes of worship and correct understanding of dogma.

4. we're going to new orleans! and the armpit of florida! if anyone has any suggestions for either spot (but particularly the armpit), we'd love to hear them. wooohoo!!!

10 September, 2007

stippled is the new smooth

ever wonder why most superheroes wear capes? or spandex, for that matter?

i think in the latter case, it is clear that like those yuppie nouveau-enviro commuters one sees everywhere, all sleek and shiny in their spendex gear, it is in the interests of aerodynamicity and speedishness. one must be as punctual when saving a screaming damsel from certain death under the wheels of a speeding velocipede as when riding to the office for that important business meeting. seconds count.

the cape, though? i have a theory. sure, you say, it looks pretty, all flag-like and wavy, all photogenic and shit. and yes. there is some truth in that. but let's be honest here: who looks good in spandex? huh? really good? whose ass can take the kind of scrutiny that is surely forthcoming when one prances around saving damsels and babies and little old ladies? and here's where the cape comes in handy: sure, it lifts up when you fly, but all the girls sigh and look at the cape unfurled, and nobody, i guarantee it, nobody looks at your ass. but when you are on the ground? that, my superhero friend, is a different story, and so: swish, swoosh, the cape hides the ass.

ladies and gentlemen, let it be known forthwith: the cape hides the ass.

06 September, 2007

in which i consider possible career changes

sorry, more about teeth.

the problem, you see, is that i can no longer bring myself to give a shit. yeah, so every 9 months for the last 15 years you have been told to brush all surfaces of your teeth. the front ones. the back ones. the side ones. the top ones. the bottom ones. when i mention this to you, you feign surprise, shock and wonder, as though my comments are of an unprecedented and revolutionary nature: WHAT?! brush ALL surfaces of ALL my teeth? what a novel concept which i shall consider, and why oh why has no one told me this before?!!

at this point, i don't care. you wanna carry emergency rations of chicken salad sandwiches packed between your molars? go nuts! wear yourself out. this girl no longer cares.

so, any ideas for flexible, well-paid, interesting, non-blood-related work? just in case, though: i don't work unpaid overtime. i don't consider my life an optional side-dish to the main course of a career. and i don't do windows.